


Protect You Anyway

by thenerdyindividual



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gwaine Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Hurt Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Knight Merlin (Merlin), Lancelot is a good bro, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Slow Burn, gwaine is a good bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24140806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdyindividual/pseuds/thenerdyindividual
Summary: Merlin accidentally reveals his magic to Arthur. It goes about as well as he can expect. Only Arthur is still furious about the lies between them, and refuses to let Merlin back into his role as manservant. So Merlin requests to be made a knight. If Arthur can't trust him to be a friend, at least Merlin can continue to save his life. Their friendship hangs in the balance, and it is unclear whether they are going to come through on the other side stronger than ever, or broken beyond repair.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 162
Kudos: 1167





	1. Chapter 1

Merlin has imagined what it would be like for Arthur to find out about his magic at least once a day, every day since arriving in Camelot. He’s imagined the best case scenario (saving Arthur’s life in battle, and Arthur being immediately grateful for it, and working to lift the ban so Merlin can be heralded as the hero he is), and the worst case scenario (Arthur learning about it from someone else, and being unable to trust him, and lopping his head off). In the end, how it really happens comes down to the fact that Merlin’s big damn heart won’t let him stand by while others are in pain. Arthur takes it about as well as to be expected.

Spring has arrived in Camelot. The snow has finally melted away, and the muddy season has begun. The air smells like wild flowers, and warmth. Children take the opportunity to run wild like they haven’t been able to in months, and haggard parents are more lenient than usual, desperate for them to run off some of their energy. 

Arthur is doing a trip through the lower town, checking on the state of things. Cataloguing things that need repairs, and offering condolences to anyone who lost a loved one to the harsh winter. It is part of what makes him such a beloved king. He actually cares about his people, all of his people.

Merlin is bobbing along in his wake, taking any orders for Gaius as they go. One such wild child is pelting pell-mell through the stands, and cottages. A group of other children chase him, probably locked in a highly competitive game of tag. He darts neatly around Arthur, and his little entourage without a care, and Arthur smiles indulgently at him.

Merlin is the one to have to do the dodging when the child runs towards him. Then, because children are clumsy and fate can have a seriously sick sense of humor, someone tosses some cleaning water out of their window. It slicks the cobblestones outside, and the child hits it too quickly. His little feet slip, and he crashes hard to the ground with an anguished cry.

He’s quiet, and that makes Merlin’s flesh break into goosebumps. Children are only quiet after they fall for two reasons. They have either aren’t damaged, and are so shocked by the revelation they are struck silent, or they have damaged themselves so badly that they are shocked into silence. Given the boy’s speed when he hit the slick stones, and the crack Merlin heard when he fell, Merlin is betting it is the latter.

The child’s friends gather around him in a semi-circle looking stricken. Merlin pushes through, and no one questions it. There are some blessings to being Gaius’s apparent apprentice. He shoos the children back so they can’t see that their friend’s leg is bent at a distinctly unnatural angle. 

He crouches in front of the child, and smiles confidently, “My name’s Merlin. What’s yours?”

“Arawn.” He says bravely.

“Well Arawn, I’m just going to take a look at that leg of yours, and then you can get back to your friends.” Merlin says.

Arawn nods, and squeezes his eyes shut tight as Merlin prods his leg as gently as possible. It is definitely broken, and it is definitely badly scrapped. Arawn is lucky that the bone hadn’t shifted so far as to come out of his skin.

“Oh. Not too bad.” Merlin lies, glancing around surreptitiously. There are too many witnesses for what he wants to do, “Can someone brings me some hot water, and rags? I just want to make sure the scrapes don’t get infected.”

Immediately the witnesses scatter, all of them wanting to help Arawn. Merlin only has a few second window to make this work. Arthur had stopped at the commotion, but once he saw that Merlin had things handled (no doubt thinking something rude about how Merlin has finally been useful for once) he continued a bit further down. 

“Okay Arawn. I want you to count to ten as loud as you can.” Merlin suggests.

In a tremulous voice, Arawn begins counting. His brown eyes are still squeezed shut, so tightly that it is causing his entire dirty face to scrunch. Merlin glances around one last time, and then whispers the healing spell under his breath. At ten, Arawn opens his eyes, looking entirely puzzled.

“My leg doesn’t hurt so much anymore.” He says

Merlin grins at him, “You just had it twisted funny. Once we get these scrapes cleaned up you should be good as new.”

He would have liked to heal those too, but couldn’t risk it. Too many people had seen them by the time Merlin got to work. At that point a woman returns with the hot water, and Merlin gently cleans Arawn’s scrapes. Then he sets him back on his feet with a warning to be more careful in future.

Arawn gives him a hug, then races off to join his friends. They all smile at Merlin, wave, and then as a group dart off to get into some other mischief. Merlin rinses his hands quickly in what’s left of the small pitcher hot of water, hands everything back to the woman who brought it, and turns to rejoin Arthur on his track around the lower town.

When Merlin spots him, Arthur is staring at him. His eyes are stormy in a way Merlin has seen only when Uther had died. His jaw is clenched too, as are his fists. He turns away from Merlin without a word, back stiff.

Shit.

Arthur ignores him for the remainder of the visit to the lower town. Merlin never realized how much Arthur would turn to look at him, sometimes for encouragement, sometimes just to make an exasperated joke, until he stopped altogether. It is like Merlin has been relegated to a shadow, and that had actually happened once. Quite unpleasant that. He still hasn’t brought himself to attempt that spell again.

When they get back to the castle, Arthur acknowledges him only long enough to jerk his chin, indicating Merlin should follow him. Normally, his ‘we need to discuss something in private’ face was a lot more amused. Today the nod is sharp, angry. Merlin clings to the fact Arthur hasn’t called for the guards or hauled him to the dungeon. It gives him hope that maybe, just maybe, he has enough of Arthur’s trust for this to turn out okay in the end.

They enter Arthur’s chambers, and the door slams shut behind Merlin with a bang. On a sliding scale from ‘stressed about what just occurred at the council meeting’ to ‘I just found out someone is trying to mount an attack on Camelot _again_ ’ it is about a nine. Well, that’s not a great start for the discussion they are going to have.

Arthur stands by the window, glaring out of it like the court yard below had betrayed him and not Merlin. His shoulders are still tensed, but he turns to face Merlin head on. He takes a deep breath, and clutches the back of his chair like it will give him strength.

“That child in the lower town.” Arthur says, voice low and dangerous.

“What about him, sire?” Merlin asks, treading carefully.

“His leg was broken.” Arthur says. A statement. Not a question.

“Yes.”

“You healed it.”

Merlin hesitates for a moment, and then decides on the truth. As much as he says otherwise, Arthur isn’t actually an idiot. There’s no getting out of this one, and he’s tired of lying.

“Yes.”

“You have magic.”

“Yes.”

“Get out.” Arthur commands, pointing stiff-armed at the door. 

“No.”

“What?” Arthur asks, taking a threatening step towards Merlin. 

Really, Merlin is as surprised as him. Whenever he imagined the version of the argument in which Arthur told him to leave, Merlin always complied, wanting to let him cool down. Today, though, there’s just enough anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He’s saved Arthur more times than he can keep track of, and now that the time has come for it all to come out Merlin is angry that Arthur is angry with him. Even though he knew he would be.

“I’ve never done what you said before, especially when you’re being a prat. Not starting now, sire.”

“Choose your next words carefully, Merlin.” Arthur says warningly, advancing another step, and dropping his hand dangerously close to the pommel of his sword.

“I’m not going to sit around, and hope you forgive me, or wait for the guards to drag me through the throne room. Either run me through with that now,” Merlin says and gestures at Arthur’s sword, “or for once in your life stop being a pigheaded fool and actually listen to what I have to say.”

Arthur looks a bit like he’s been slapped. His mouth is slightly parted, and his eyes are blinking at Merlin almost unseeingly. He draws his sword, and Merlin has a gut wrenching moment where he thinks all his loyalty and friendship have gone for naught and Arthur is going to be just as brutal as Uther was. 

“You haven’t just committed treason, Merlin, you have betrayed me. I was under the impression we were friends—“

“We are friends,” Merlin snaps, “And I may have committed treason, but I never ever betrayed you.”

“How can I trust that?”

“Bandits aren’t that unlucky, Arthur.” Merlin says, and his heart pounds so hard in his chest he feels like he can’t breathe.

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re the best swordsman, possibly to ever live, but not even you could beat six against one odds. Do you know how many times I have saved your life? No? Me either! I have lost count.”

“You’ve saved my life?” Arthur asks, and lowers his sword without dropping it.

“Who do you think stops the near monthly assassination attempt? Your guards? And it isn’t just your life. I saved your father too, and all of Camelot!”

Arthur draws himself to his full height, still shorter than Merlin though Merlin notices smugly, but instead of seeming soothed, Arthur looks more murderous. His grip on his sword tightens, and his jaw works.

“Damn it, Merlin! Don’t you see the position you’ve put me in?” he shouts.

“What are you talking about?” Merlin asks.

“I believe you when you say you’ve saved me. Too many fights suddenly make sense now for it to be otherwise, but you have put me in a position where I can no longer in good consciousness banish you, and now have to make magic legal again in order to repay you!”

“Why would that be so bad?” Merlin shouts back.

“You know there are dissenters in the court, they’ve been there since my Father was first made king! If any of them find out you’re a God Damned sorcerer they can claim you’ve put a spell on me! They could use this as an excuse to have me declared unfit for my throne! So not only has the one man I have always trusted, lied to me, this same man has potentially caused the beginnings of a coup!” Arthur shouts, knuckles white on his sword. 

Merlin feels himself deflate a little, “Arthur, I—“

“Get out.” Arthur says, voice quiet again. He sounds exhausted. 

“But—“

“I said, get out.” Arthur repeats, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Merlin turns on his heel, and heads for the door. Just as he’s stepping through it, he pauses, and glances back over his shoulder at Arthur. He seems defeated. He’s let go of his sword now, and it rests on the table. His eyes are closed, and for a moment Merlin is reminded of little Arawn from that morning.

“I’m sorry.” He says softly, and then lets the door close behind him with a gentle thump.

He walks back to Gaius’s in a daze. Arthur’s reaction was better than feared, and worse than he hoped. At least Arthur didn’t seem too terribly bothered by the magic. Although the personal betrayal, the lack of trust between them, that might take longer to heal than if Arthur _had_ been upset by the magic.

He thinks he passes Gwen at some point. He remembers smiling at someone. His focus is on the stone floors in the halls of the castle. They’ve stood for centuries, and yet somehow almost none of them have chipped or scratched. The stairs are a little rough from the amount of patrols and guards that go up and down them every day. 

He trudges up the stairs to Gaius’s, and steps inside. Gaius is bent over a book, a glass vial in his hands. He’s squinting, comparing the contents to whatever is on the page. He notices Merlin out of the corner of his eye.

“Ah, Merlin. Lady Alanis is complaining of joint aches, I need you to…” he trails off as he takes in Merlin’s face.

Merlin wonders what he must look like for Gaius to lose his train of thought. He bets he doesn’t look much better than Arthur did in back his chambers.

“What’s happened?” Gaius asks, raising an eyebrow menacingly.

It almost makes Merlin laugh. He’s been poisoned, stabbed, punched, and earlier Arthur held a sword at him, yet Gaius’s eyebrow is the thing that Merlin dreads the most.

“He knows.” Merlin says simply.

Gaius is silent a moment, his face going soft and fatherly, “And?”

“Doesn’t seem inclined to kill or banish me so… about as good as can be expected.” 

Gaius nods, and doesn’t ask anything else. Bless him. He knows when Merlin really can’t stand a push. Instead he grabs the canvas backpack used for collecting herbs, and holds it out to him.

“In that case I need you to collect some things for Lady Alanis’s remedy. Here’s the list.”

Merlin takes both the backpack, and list from Gaius, and heads back the way he came. He passes through the courtyard on his way out of the city, and wonders briefly if Arthur is watching him. The thought makes him pause, and glance up at the window. It’s too small, and too far away to tell if anyone is watching at this time of day. Merlin grimaces a bit.

He continues out of the main gate, and lets the familiarity of the woods surround him. He only now realizes that his behavior could be misread as leaving Camelot for good. Appearing in the courtyard with a backpack, and stopping to look up as if saying goodbye.

For a heartbeat, he considers running away. It would be easy. He could just keep walking until he finally got home to Ealdor. He dismisses the thought as quickly as it comes. It wouldn’t be fair to leave without saying goodbye to Gaius, and who would protect Arthur if he left?

Still, he makes an effort not to return until well after dark. Let Arthur sweat it. Let Arthur wonder where he is. Would serve him right.

*

Merlin arrives for his duties on time for once. He has Arthur’s breakfast tray balanced in one hand, as he yanks the door open. Arthur might still be angry with him, but he hasn’t sacked him yet. Until that happens, Merlin fully intends to annoy Arthur into forgiving him.

He opens the doors to Arthur’s chambers, only to find the man in question up and about. The bed has been made to perfection. Arthur’s night clothes are hung just so over his dressing screen. Arthur himself is sitting at the table in his room, reading a piece of parchment in one hand, while eating a roll with the other. Someone already brought him breakfast. 

“Sire?”

“George has taken over your duties for the time being,” Arthur says without looking up, “You are dismissed.”

It is by far the coldest Arthur has ever been.

Merlin glares at him, and stops just short of sticking his tongue out. He exits back through the door muttering, “Save a man’s life and this is the thanks you get” under his breath.

Arthur doesn’t speak to him for weeks.

Merlin tries not to let it get to him. He and Arthur have had fights before. He probably just needs time to cool down.

After a week, Merlin feels like he’s going mad. What he wasn’t expecting was the sudden amount of free time. Without constantly running after Arthur, or polishing Arthur’s armor, or cleaning Arthur’s boots, or fetching Arthur’s food, or saving Arthur from yet another attack, he is at a loss. He spends several days just pacing around Gaius’s workshop. At a certain point he would even take having to muck out the stables just for something to do.

On his third day of pacing, about two weeks after his blow up with Arthur, Gaius gives him the eyebrow of doom. Merlin stops, and smiles guiltily.

“Well if you’re going to pace like a prisoner in a cell, you may as well make yourself useful. It’s about time you learned more of the physicians’ trade.” Gaius says, and promptly loads Merlin down with a stack of books that weigh almost as much as Arthur’s armor.

The texts are dry even for medical texts. Merlin soldiers on bravely through them, page by page. When he feels himself going cross eyed, he switches over to his book of magic. With nothing but time on his hands, he may as well take a chance to train his magic up properly.

He is nose deep in a medical text, half asleep, about three weeks after the argument when the bells start sounding. His heart leaps in his chest. Visions of Arthur injured in an attack that Merlin couldn’t stop dance behind his eyes. Then the noise registers properly.

Two bells. Not three. One for an execution, two for an announcement, three for an attack. 

Merlin scrapes a hand through his hair, letting out a shuddering breath. Arthur is fine, Camelot is safe. He stands up, and he and Gaius make their way down the stairs into the courtyard to hear the announcement. Neither of them say a word.

By the time they get there, the place is packed. It seems that every citizen in Camelot has come out to hear the news. Merlin elbows his way through the crowd, ignoring Gaius’s disapproval. He situates himself so he can easily see Arthur.

The sun shines on his head, throwing his face into a golden halo. He’s wearing the crown that never suited him nearly as well as the lightweight circlet he wore before he was made king. His red cape billows in the wind. He looks regal, and serious. Not for the first time, Merlin’s breath catches in his chest at the sight. In moments like these, it is easy to believe in the stories of the Once and Future King. 

The crowd is chattering, everyone trying to guess at what the announcement will be. It is so loud that Arthur couldn’t be heard without bellowing. He presses his lips tightly together, and raises his hand, calling for silence.

The chatter dies down, and Arthur nods his approval.

“People of Camelot,” he starts and Merlin shuffles anxiously. The speeches Arthur writes are always garbage. It’s why Merlin always writes them for him. “There is no doubt that magic has been used against our fine kingdom. We have fought many battles against sorcerers who would use it for evil. However, it has come to my attention recently that magic has also been used for the good of Camelot. It has defend us against those that would see it fall, and it has been used to save my life more than once. Magic is but a tool, and it shall be regarded as any other implement. A crime committed with magic will be treated the same as any crime committed without it’s aid, but magic itself will no longer persecuted. I, Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, hereby lift the ban on magic.”

Merlin feels his knees give out beneath him. He crashes painfully to the stone beneath him. He doesn’t actually cry but it is a near thing. He knew Arthur would never kill him but, until he heard the words coming out of Arthur’s mouth, he wasn’t sure Arthur would actually lift the ban. He’d been so angry. Merlin had betrayed him, lied to him. It wouldn’t have surprised him to never have lived free.

As usual, Arthur is too noble.

A cheer goes up from the crowd. Somewhere, someone conjures a storm of flower petals that fall around Arthur. It breaks his Kingly stoicism, and he staggers back a bit in surprise. Merlin almost laughs. Someone else throws a handful of multicolored sparks into the air to the delight of the gathering children.

Warmth suffuses Merlin from head to toe. Sheer relief, and loves rushes away the numbness of shock. He stumbles back to his feet, and Arthur is still standing there on the balcony looking a bit dumbfounded. Merlin isn’t sure Arthur can see him, where he’s lost in the crowd. Still he wants to do something to show his friend how grateful it is. 

His annoyance temporarily forgotten, he cups his hands together and whispers, “Spearcaþ fýrdraca”

A massive dragon, almost the size of Kilgarrah, made of sparks bursts forth from his hands. It soars over the crowd, swooping and wheeling with delight before exploding into a shower of golden light.

Arthur’s head snaps to the direction the dragon came from, and makes eye contact with Merlin for the first time in weeks. It feels like Merlin can breathe again. He inclines his head with a small smile. Arthur’s lips thin again, but he nods back.

Then he turns on his heel, and disappears back into the castle.

A massive feast is held that night. The nights are warmer now that they are into full spring, beyond mud season. Everyone in the lower town rolls out what tables and chairs they have. Ale flows freely. Even tavern owners seem to be rejoicing. There are a few more displays of magic, but the number of sorcerers actually within Camelot’s walls is small. More than anything it seems to be that people are relieved that they no longer need to be concerned about being accused of having magic.

Merlin gets absolutely pissed.

*

The pounding on his door is what wakes him the next morning. He groans, clutching his head. He has never been this hungover before in his life.

“Just a minute!” he calls. 

He rolls out of bed, wincing at the sunshine streaming through his window. He manages to find where he discarded his clothes the night before, and clumsily pulls them back on while trying not to open his eyes. He knocks his elbow against the wall for his trouble.

He yanks the door open to find a page standing there. He couldn’t be more than thirteen, and he looks inordinately proud of himself.

“His Majesty, the King sent me to fetch you,” he announces, and that explains the pleased expression on his face, “He wants to see you in his chambers right away.”

“Did he say why?” Merlin asks.

“It is not my duty to ask, only deliver the message.” The page says dutifully, and Merlin groans. He’s too hungover for this.

He nods, and starts to follow the page from his room, but pauses at Gaius’s work table. Sitting there, in a stoppered little bottle is a thick brown sludge. Gaius’s famous hangover cure. Merlin makes a mental note to do something nice for him, and knocks it back trying not to gag. He does feel better though.

They arrive at Arthur’s rooms, and the page body blocks him before he can just go barging in. Merlin rolls his eyes, but says nothing as the page knocks dutifully.

“Enter.” Arthur’s voice comes.

The page pushes the door open, and enters with a little bounce in his step. Why everyone thinks it such a big honor to work for Arthur, Merlin will never know.

“I have Merlin for you, Sire.” He announces.

Arthur looks up from the documents spread out on the table, and regards Merlin with a neutral expression, “Thank you. You may go.”

The page backs out of the room very respectfully, and then closes the door behind him.

Arthur stares Merlin down for several long moments, expression still carefully neutral. It feels wrong being on the receiving end of what Merlin refers to as ‘court face’. It makes him feel like a foreign dignitary, not a friend. 

“You wanted to see me?” he prods, and Arthur nods.

“Sit.” Arthur says, and gestures at the chair at the opposite side of the table. His rings catch in the sunlight as he does, drawing Merlin’s attention to his hands. His sword callused, infuriating, merciful hands.

Merlin takes a seat.

“Thank you, Arthur.” Merlin says seriously when it looks like all Arthur is going to do is stare out the window.

Arthur looks back at him, unable to hide the surprise in his blue eyes, “For what?”

“Lifting the ban.” Merlin answers, “You were angry with me, but you did it anyway. Thank you.”

“Yes. Well,” Arthur says stiffly, “you proved to be a loyal man. I could no longer punish all magic when it became clear many would not use it for harm. And that brings me to the topic I wanted to discuss.”

“Which is?” Merlin asks as Arthur takes a seat.

“I don’t think it appropriate you continue your duties as my manservant.”

“What?”

“It is undignified to keep a man as powerful as you in service. I have created a new position more suited to your gifts,” Arthur says, not quite meeting Merlin’s eyes, “I have a need of an Advisor on Magical Affairs. I need someone who can effectively sort any confusion that might appear due to the recent change in laws.”

“What? Arthur—“

“Your duties will involve collecting research both from existing texts and from other magic users, attending council meetings, and sitting in on the days where I hear grievances in case there is a complaint of magic being used for harm.” 

“I don’t want to sit back and do research,” Merlin says indignantly, “Arthur, I’m where I’m supposed to be. I’m meant to protect you, and I can’t do that if I’m stuck in a library. Being your manservant is the best place I could be.”

Arthur’s jaw clenches, and he looks at Merlin properly, “I don’t want you as my servant any longer.”

“Why?”

“I trust you never to hurt me, or hurt Camelot, but you lied to me. You hid who you were for our entire friendship. I trusted you with secrets and worries, and you never returned that trust. I can’t trust you to be a friend any longer.” 

“Don’t be like this.” Merlin pleads, “When was going to be a good time to tell you, Arthur? When Uther was still king, and trying to murder every single last one of my people? Or maybe after Morgana attacked, and you decided all magic was evil?”

“If you had told me, I would have trusted you!” Arthur shouts, “And it doesn’t matter. I have made up my mind. You are going to become an advisor on magic.”

“No.”

“Damn it, Merlin! Why do you always have to be so stubborn?”

“I don’t want to be an advisor, and I am awful at research when your life isn’t in the balance. Give that role to Geoffrey,” Merlin dismisses, “I’m meant to protect you.”

“We are talking in circles. I refuse to allow you back into my service.”

“Make me a knight, then.” Merlin suggests.

Arthur stares at him, wide eyed, “A knight?”

“What? I saved your life. That’s all it took for Gwaine, and Lancelot to get in.” The longer he thinks about it, the more right it feels. He was born to serve Arthur, and if he can’t be a servant then a knight is the next best thing.

Arthur snorts, and smiles that lopsided smile that shows off the slightly crooked set of his teeth. For a moment, it is like life has reasserted itself. Merlin has said something rude, and Arthur is pretending to be offended by it. There’s no argument, no chasm of secrets between them.

“Merlin, I could take you apart with one blow.”

“I could take you apart with less than that.”

The smile slides from Arthur’s face. No doubt he recognizes the echo of their first meeting.

“Report to training tomorrow at dawn.”

Merlin ignores the voice in his head that tells him to point out that Arthur literally never hosts training that early.


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin steals some bread, and hard cheese out of the cupboard on his way out the door the next morning. He only shrugs when Gaius sends him a questioning look. They haven’t exactly discussed Merlin’s new position. 

Merlin has a feeling that maybe Gaius doesn’t entirely approve. Something about not wanting Merlin in danger, like he hasn’t been in danger since the moment he set foot in Camelot. 

The knights are all in the armory when he arrives. Lancelot is bright eyed, and already dressed. Ever trying to prove himself to Arthur, despite having proven himself long ago. Elyan and Percival stumble through getting ready, still half asleep. Leon is quiet in his corner. Gwaine is scowling.

“I don’t know why the princess has to call training so early.” he grumbles.

“He gave us fair warning,” Lancelot says mildly, “It’s your own fault you stayed out all night at the tavern.”

Gwaine sends him a wounded look, but Lancelot just grins back at him.

Merlin steps into the armory, and immediately all attention is focused on him. Arthur must not have told them about his magic because not a single one looks betrayed. Instead everyone smiles, calling out his name with affection.

Gwaine pulls him into a hug with a quick slap on the back, and Lancelot ruffles his hair.

“Why are you here? Surely Arthur isn’t making you our practice dummy before the sun is even warm.” Lancelot asks, a slight note of disapproval in his voice.

“Err. No.” Merlin says awkwardly, “I’m going to be training as a knight with you.”

A series of confused voices overlap each other. Rising in a cacophony that echoes off the stone walls.

“I know. I know.” He says, effectively quieting his friends, “I didn’t think I was nearly thick enough to join.”

“Merlin, why would Arthur suddenly decide to make you a knight?” Leon asks.

Merlin shrugs awkwardly, “He finally found out how much I do for him.”

He glances at Lancelot then and Lancelot’s eyes widen a fraction. So Merlin’s suspicions are confirmed. Arthur has not told the others what’s going on. Lancelot looks like he’s torn between horror and relief.

“So princess finally figured out you have magic then?” Gwaine asks, entirely nonchalant.

Merlin’s head whips around so fast his neck pops. Gwaine sends him his signature charming grin.

“You knew?” Merlin asks.

“Ever since the Fisher King. Courage, Magic, and Strength. I wasn’t magic, and neither was Arthur. Could only be you. Besides, you have survived too many things that would have killed a normal man, and our luck in battle was too good.” He shrugs like it’s nothing.

Merlin turns his gaze to the rest of the knights. They all seem as flabbergasted as Merlin.

“Did anyone else besides Lancelot, and Gwaine know?” he asks.

“Wait. You’re serious? This isn’t one of Gwaine’s stupid jokes?” Elyan asks.

“Not a joke.” Merlin confirms, and can feel his palms sticky with sweat in his pockets.

“It does explain why you were always willing to ride out with us, and pitched a hissy fit if Arthur tried to leave you behind.” Percival says thoughtfully.

Merlin splutters, “I did not pitch a hissy fit.”

The knights exchange looks that clearly read ‘Isn’t it cute how he thinks that’. Merlin narrows his eyes at them, “I should turn you all into toads.”

This sends a ripple of laughter through the men, and Gwaine slaps him on the back again, “None of us care, Merlin. You’re our brother just as much as we are to each other.”

“So… you’re not angry with me for keeping it from you?” He glances at Leon. He’s been the quietest out of them all. Anxiety twists in Merlin’s gut. Leon was one of Uther’s men first. It would be awful to find out that Uther’s influence had dug into someone as honorable as Leon.

“I think it’s a good thing you did,” Leon says, “Uther would have killed you, and I like the idea of magic being on our side for once.”

Merlin huffs a sigh of relief, and stares at each of the knights. His cheeks ache from grinning so hard. He knew that telling Arthur would be difficult, and that their friendship might never repair. He could handle that as long as he continued to keep Arthur safe, but if he’s going to do that he needs the Knights’ support. It seems he has it.

“When you’re all quite finished being soppy fools,” Arthur’s voice comes harsh from behind Merlin, “We have training to do. Get into your armor, Merlin.”

Merlin turns to face Arthur, rolling his eyes, “I don’t have any.”

There are tense lines around Arthur’s eyes. In the years they’ve spent together, Merlin has become an expert in reading Arthur’s expressions. He’s annoyed.

“You know where the extra armor is kept. Find some that fits. I won’t commission a full set for you until you become knighted.”

He turns on his heel and strides out to the training field.

The easy camaraderie from before seems to fall away. Everyone sets about collecting their weapons, or tightening the buckles on their mail, or adjusting their gauntlets. Merlin brushes by them for the trunk at the end of the room where the extra mail is kept. Despite the flurry of activity, Lancelot still offers him a bracing hand on his shoulder as he passes.

By the time he finds the pieces he used during their trip to Ealdor, the knights have all gone out to the training grounds. The chainmail is heavy when he picks it up, and he’s not sure if that’s because of the metal itself, or because of the memories attached. The four of them had been so inseparable then. It’s Merlin’s fault that they didn’t remain that way.

The mail only fits slightly better than it did that day in Ealdor. Merlin has developed some muscle after years of running around after Arthur, and carrying trays. Still, it was designed for a man a full size broader than Merlin. It will do to prevent the worst of the bruises he’s going to get today.

The training ground is damp with dew. The knights have all fallen into working their forms. Arthur strides between them, eyes sharp and assessing. Merlin slides neatly into place next to Percival. He’s big, and slightly slower than the others. It’s enough that Merlin can follow his movements if he watches carefully.

“Nice of you to join us, Merlin.” Arthur snaps.

So. They’re off to the races then.

Merlin offers Arthur a sunny smile, “Always happy to do my duty, Sire.”

If there’s more venom than usual in his voice, none of the knights react to it.

Merlin leaves at the end of the day less bruised than he thought he would be. Despite Arthur’s insistence that they go at him as hard as they would any other knight, none of the knight’s actually listened. They stand between Merlin and Arthur’s hurt like a shield.

Merlin still collapses face first into his bed that night. A small piece of his exhaustion is in fact due to the physical exertion, but most of it is how draining it is to be near Arthur. Merlin makes standing up to his flinty eyed glare look easy, but it’s not. Especially when he knows he actually deserves it.

Weeks pass like that. Merlin drags himself out of bed at dawn, and heads down to training. He still seems to be the only one not bothered by the early hour. Being a servant turned out to have some advantages after all.

It goes better than he expected. He’s actually able to keep hold of his sword now when a knight parries a blow. They have started hitting harder too, as though they know Merlin can take it. It’s heartening in a way, to be treated like he can do anything.

He just wishes Arthur was as excited as everyone else. His expression hasn’t softened a bit. He hits Merlin with full force, and it’s only because Merlin has spent years being a training dummy that he keeps his feet. Even Leon, who tends to be the most agreeable towards Arthur, has started to protest the harshness before cutting himself off.

*

He takes a deep breath, and forces down the frustration building in his throat. Gwaine stands in front of him, playful smirk on his lips. He’s upgraded Merlin to fighting against a few of his simpler sleight of hand tricks. They are incredibly difficult to block. Merlin is sure the only reason he has any success is because he’s spent enough time watching Gwaine fight that he knows the signs.

He blocks another blow, gritting his teeth against the force behind it. He searches for an opening like Elyan taught him, and finds one. He lunges for Gwaine, but his foot is in the wrong position. It makes the blow weak, and Gwaine uses the closeness to knock Merlin on his ass again.

Laughter comes from Merlin’s left, and he doesn’t have to look to see that it’s Arthur. Lately, he’s been acting more and more like the boy Merlin met who tried to bludgeon him with a mace for his cheek. Merlin clings to the hope in the other actions Arthur takes. Like how he doesn’t actually scold the knights for not going as hard as they could. 

Merlin misses the ease with which they used to spend time together.

Gwaine helps him from the grass and dusts him off a bit. Merlin bats his hands away, aware of Arthur’s eyes on him the whole time.

“You won’t get any better lying about in the grass all day, Merlin.” Arthur calls.

“Maybe you should take a break.” Gwaine says, voice pitched low so only Merlin can hear it.

“I’m fine, Gwaine,” Merlin snaps, tugging his arm out of Gwaine’s grip, and shooting a glare of Arthur. He raises his voice loud enough that Arthur can hear him, “I wouldn’t give His Royal Pratliness the satisfaction.”

Arthur blinks and, for a moment, an amused smile crosses his face. It looks so much like the old Arthur, the one who isn’t angry and betrayed, that Merlin’s heart clenches in his chest.

*

Percival hefts Merlin up from the grass for the third time, and offers an apologetic smile. Merlin just shrugs at him. It can’t be helped. 

“Why do you keep falling?” Arthur asks, and a sharp retort is on Merlin’s tongue before he realizes that there’s no hostility there. Just genuine curiosity, as though he can’t fathom why Merlin keeps losing against men who have been training for this all their lives.

“I started training two months ago?” he suggests.

That doesn’t seem to clear anything up, “Why aren’t you… you know?”

“No. I don’t know.” Merlin says, suddenly just as lost as Arthur.

Arthur sighs, starting to get annoyed, “Your magic, Merlin.”

“Oh,” Merlin says, shrugging, “You didn’t say I could.”

“And when has that stopped you before?” Arthur asks, hostility creeping back into his tone.

“Don’t get snippy with _me_.” Merlin snaps, “If you wanted me to use it, you should have asked. Reading minds isn’t actually possible for me.”

“Oh so you do have limitations? That’s not the impression you gave me when you claimed you saved my life and, oh what was it, all of Camelot.” Arthur’s eyes are hard, and flinty again.

“You don’t believe me.” Merlin says bluntly.

“Hard to believe in something you haven’t seen. All I’ve seen is a halfway decent healer.” Arthur responds.

They are both definitely shouting now. The knights have all stopped in their work to watch. Gwaine and Lancelot look like they are considering stepping in between them.

“Fine.” Merlin snarls, and rounds on the straw dummy at the other end of the pitch. 

Elyan had been working on it, trying to hone a new movement without hurting an actual person. He takes one look at Merlin’s face and rolls out of the way.

The frustration, and pain of losing Arthur roils under Merlin’s skin. It is like a sticky electric heat, trying to ooze out of his very pores. 

His magic rushes from him. He’s kept it in check more than he ever did before in case he’d make Arthur angrier. It carries his frustration with it as it leaves, and he knows his eyes must be burning with the golden light.

Between one heartbeat and the next, the straw dummy explodes. Splinters of wood ricochet outwards, the cheap canvas disintegrates. Single pieces of straw drift from the sky, settling on the shoulders of the shocked knights.

Not even Gwaine has a comment.

“Good enough demonstration, my lord?” Merlin hisses, and storms off the training field without waiting for a reply.

*  
Gwen starts making time in her busy schedule to come watch the knights train. At first Merlin is glad to see her. He’s adored Gwen ever since they meant and he considers her a dear friend. 

She was unbelievably supportive when the rumors finally got to her about Merlin’s magic. She had shown up on Gaius’s doorstep with a full pie, and smiled when Merlin answered.

“Thank you, Merlin.” she’d said, handing the pie to him.

“For what?”

“Saving my father. Saving me.”

Merlin had shrugged, smiling at her, “You’re my friend.”

She brings sandwiches to the training which earns her the devotion of every single knight. Merlin is convinced any one of them would not only die for Gwen, but kill for her as well. Her sandwiches are truly a godsend.

Then what was a rather enjoyable little tradition turns sour.

With Gwen having the loyalty of every man on the pitch, Arthur decides he can afford to be more openly affectionate. He’ll call training to a break when he sees her round the corner and jog to meet her. He carries the picnic basket for her like a gentleman and kisses her on the cheek. If he’s feeling particularly bold, he’ll even rest a hand on her waist as everyone eats.

It feels suspiciously like when he swallowed poison. Merlin knows he has no right to the burning sensation he feels in his throat. He never had any claims to Arthur’s heart before the big reveal and has even less of a claim now and Gwen is his friend. It isn’t fair to be angry with her for something she hasn’t done.

But every time Arthur leans in close and conspiratorial, Merlin is reminded sharply of his new role in Arthur’s life. Merlin can handle not being of romantic interest to Arthur and has been dealing with it quite well since the early days of their friendship. What’s difficult is the distance between them. Merlin isn’t a friend any longer and he certainly isn’t a brother like the knights. He’s a barely tolerable outside.

Now it’s Gwen who has his ear. It’s Gwen who advises him when he feels uncertain. It’s Gwen who gets to tease him, laugh with him. 

Merlin has been replaced.

He tries to accept with good grace. He still smiles at Gwen when she comes. He praises her cooking skills as much as the knights do. Then he fades to the back of the group so he doesn’t have to see the way Arthur’s thumb strokes the back of her hand. 

What he wouldn’t give for Arthur to do something as childish as hit him.

In the very depths of his heart, Merlin always hoped Arthur would forgive him fairly quickly. After all, Merlin did his best with an impossible position and Arthur respects that. He’s also a man of honor. He rewards people for saving his life. Merlin’s reward was to be allowed to exist on the periphery instead of banished.

He’s not sure Arthur will ever forgive him and his heart aches. Late at night, when he’s sure Gaius is asleep, he presses a pillow over his face and screams.

His only comfort is that Elyan and Lancelot seem to be as upset by Gwen stopping by as Merlin. Leon, Percival, and Gwaine have to work just a little harder after the break. Merlin thinks they must make an amusing sight. Two knights and skinny fool all scowling and trying to beat the daylights out of their opponents because of the same woman.

*

Merlin should have known that a fight was building. He and Arthur still haven’t had it out yet. The closest since the big reveal was the incident with the practice dummy. They have been icily polite to each other, down right cordial.

The frustration they both feel was not going to be buried for much longer.

It is blisteringly hot out. The sunlight bounces off the pale stone of the citadel, and throws the heat back onto the darker cobblestones below. Merlin’s back is itchy with layers of dried sweat, and his nose is starting to be sunburned, but Leon had kept training going despite the foul moods of the knights.

A flutter of a red cape catches Merlin’s eye and he turns to see who it is. The hot sun is glinting off Arthur’s armor as he approaches. All movement on the practice field stops to await orders.

“There’s been an attack in one of the outlying villages. Refugees are coming as we speak,” Arthur announces, “We’re riding out to meet them in order to offer them protection. Horses are being saddled as we speak.”

“We have our orders.” Leon shouts.

The knights rush from the field, gathering capes and weaponry as they go. None of them admit to it, but Merlin is sure they are as relieved to get to ride in the shade of the trees in the woods outside Camelot as he is. It’s a shame that the relief has to come at such a cost.

He follows suit. He doesn’t have a cape yet but he still needs to return the blunted practice weaponry and exchange it for the proper tools. He takes a step, preparing to dash to the armory, and a large hand grabs him by the forearm, halting his progress.

“Where do you think you’re going, Merlin?” Arthur asks almost conversationally.

“With you.” Merlin answers like it’s obvious. It really should be at this point. Arthur has never ridden out without him in all their time together.

“I don’t think so.” Arthur says with that sane infuriatingly casual town.

Merlin scowls at him, “Yes I am.”

“You’re not a knight, Merlin. You can’t ride out.”

“That never stopped you before.” Merlin replies indignantly, and none too quietly, “You were perfectly willing to let me ride out on patrols with you before you knew I could hold my own.”

“Things have changed.” Arthur says, voice raising as well.

“You’re right. They have. You’re an even bigger fool now than you were then,” Merlin snaps, “How am I supposed to keep you safe if I’m stuck here in Camelot?”

Arthur scoffs, sneering a little, “I don’t need you to keep me safe. I’m the best knight in Camelot by a hefty margin. I’ll be fine without you.”

“That is historically incorrect and you know it!”

“You’re not going and that is final!”

“What? Are you afraid I’ll show you up?” Merlin shouts back.

Time seems to bubble and warp around them. For a moment, they are nearly a decade younger. They’re standing on the steps of the castle with Morgana, preparing to face down the Avanc. Morgana’s eyes are blazing with determination as Arthur forbids her to go, and she refuses to stand down. _Are you afraid I’m going to show you up?_

Arthur drops Merlin’s arm like he’s been burned, and staggers away. Guilt heavy and twisting sits in Merlin’s gut. He never meant to hurt Arthur. It seems like that’s all he’s good for anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, “Look. Let me come. I promise if I don’t save you while we’re out then you don’t have to take me on the next one.”

_I’ll just turn invisible and follow you anyway. I don’t care how angry you are with me, I won’t let you die._

“Fine.” Arthur says shortly.

He pivots and storms back across the training field towards the armory. His cape billows behind him, somehow snapping in the slight breeze as angrily as Arthur walks. Dramatic ass. 

The knights have all stopped on their way to the armory in order to watch the exchange. Most are at least trying to hide their reactions, but Gwaine is grimacing. They jerk back into motion clumsily, like puppets at the end of strings, at the sight of Arthur. Leon herds them to the armory.

The path is blessedly cool when they enter the woods. Sunlight barely breaks through the dense pack of trees. 

Merlin rides at the back of the group, feeling too twisted up with guilt, worry, and loneliness to be anywhere near Arthur. Instead Lancelot rides in Merlin’s customary position behind Arthur’s left. Leon rides at the right. Percival and Gwaine ride closest to Merlin, and Gwaine keeps turning as though to try to cheer Merlin up only to be stopped with a shake of Percival’s head. Merlin is immensely grateful for Percival’s intervention. He doesn’t want to yell at two people he cares about today.

It seems that Leon and Lancelot are modelling themselves after Percival when it comes to dealing with Arthur. They remain silent and stoic at either side. This leaves poor Elyan in the middle of the pack, glancing between the two sets of people. He’s clearly not sure if he should be joking with his fellow knights or not. In the end he decides to follow suit, and faces forward silently. 

Merlin is so lost in his own thoughts it takes him a moment to notice. The hair on the back of his neck is prickling. Arthur used to refer to it as one of his funny feelings. It feels different than the tingles he gets when magic is involved, but he knows no good ever comes of such a feeling.

“Something is wrong.” He says, overloud in the silent group.

“What do you mean?” Leon asks, sitting straighter on his bay gelding.

Merlin sits straighter on his own mount, gazing into the densely packed trees. There’s something off that he just can’t put his finger on. He squints, almost holding his breath with concentration. There. A flicker of movement.

“We’re being followed.” He says.

From the front of the line, Arthur sighs, and turns in his saddle to face Merlin, “We are not--”

He can’t finish the sentence. Apparently deciding subtlety is overrated now that they’ve been spotted, bandits come boiling out of the trees like ants out of an ant hill. There are probably twenty of them compared to the seven knights. Though it is hard to keep track of exact numbers in the chaos.

A man who could rival Percival in size makes a beeline for Arthur, but Merlin can’t keep his attention there. Another man in cracking boiled leather armor is headed towards Merlin himself and is on top of him in a breath. Merlin tumbles from his horse, only narrowly avoiding cracking his head open on a tree root.

The man swings a crude knife down at him, aiming for his chest. At the last second, Merlin brings his arm up, blocking the swing with his sword. The sound of metal clashing with metal sets his teeth on edge.

He shoves back hard, using magic to give it some extra force. He’s not going to fight clean when the enemy is not doing him that courtesy. The man staggers away and nearly trips over his own feet. 

Merlin rolls to his feet, whispers a quick spell, and the man slumps to the ground anyway. He should sleep for some time yet. He sweeps the battle, desperately seeking confirmation that Arthur is unharmed. Merlin can see the shine of Arthur’s blonde hair near the tree line. He’s facing down two men, and they keep forcing his retreat. If Arthur gets separated from the group, that’s the end of it.

Merlin runs. He dodges attacks like it’s second nature. Arthur and the knights are agile, but not nearly as agile as Merlin. It really isn’t any different than dodging out of the way of the other servants when they’re trying to set up a feast.

He clears the main skirmish, and slides to a stop next to Arthur. Arthur had fallen at some point, and is blocking the blows that try to kill him. Without stopping to think, Merlin drops to his knees next to Arthur and draws up a shielding spell. The swords bounce off it and Merlin pushes his advantage just like the knights taught him to. He rises back to his feet, forcing the bandits to stumble backwards away or be flattened by the spell. He flings his hand out, and lets his magic burst free.

The men are thrown back, and they hit the surrounding trees with a sickening crack. Around him, the noise of battle fades. The knights let out a cheer as the few remaining men scramble back up the embankment and disappear into the trees.

Merlin stands, chest heaving, for a few moments. It feels good being able to use his magic in the open. It feels right.

He turns to face Arthur who is still slumped on the ground, staring at him. Merlin offers him a cheeky grin, “Two hundred, now.”

He takes Arthur’s hand and hauls him back to his feet.

“What?” Arthur asks dumbly.

“I’ve saved your life two hundred times now. I’m keeping count.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Merlin, I was hoping to talk to you before you left.” Arthur announces as everyone begins to leave the armory.

Merlin pauses, cataloguing Arthur. He doesn’t seem like he’s going to yell. He doesn’t have the pinch between his brows that indicate stress. He’d just been talking about how well settling the refugees turned out to be.

Deeming it safe enough, Merlin stops and returns to the bench across from Arthur.

“What did you need, Sire?”

“What you did in the woods the other day was… well done,” Arthur says with a wince and Merlin carefully doesn’t snort. No point in riling Arthur up. “And the stunt you pulled with the practice dummy. It gave me an idea.”

“Oh?”

“I was hoping you could train the knights.” Arthur says on a rush of air.

He has that carefully smooth face he gets when he feels awkward but knows he needs to get out whatever he’s saying. His eyes settle just a little to the left of Merlin’s face and Merlin tries not to let the sting of that rattle him. Arthur hasn’t looked at him properly in ages.

“Train them to do what? Magic?”

“I suppose if any of them have any aptitude for it a few defensive spells wouldn’t go amiss,” Arthur answers stiffly, “but I had hoped you could teach them how to avoid magical attacks. Maybe, if it’s possible, teach them to sense magic as it is getting prepared so they have time to get a safer position.”

It isn’t the welcome of magic Merlin had been looking for, but it’s a start. Maybe this means Arthur is softening again.

“I can try.”

Arthur nods sharply, “My thanks. Be prepared for the first lesson the day after tomorrow.”

“Yes, sire.”

Arthur nods again, rises from his own bench, and disappears down the hall. Merlin instinctively rises to follow. He’s spent years caring for Arthur after training and it is a hard habit to break. He supposes another manservant does that now.

*

“Damn, Merlin.” Gwaine wheezes as he hits the ground again, “Give a man a chance to recover.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have hit me so hard during my training then.” Merlin teases.

“He has a point, Gwaine. I have treated Merlin with nothing but respect since I met him.” Elyan agrees and send Merlin a charming smile.

Merlin snorts, “Just because you’re Gwen’s brother don’t think I’ll go easy on you.”

“But I had her bring your favorite sandwiches today.” Elyan complains.

“King’s orders.” Merlin responds and helps Gwaine to his feet, “Take a break. Who’s next?”

Leon steps forward bravely. He lands in the dirt not thirty seconds later.

“It’s not fair that you don’t seem to tire.” Leon complains as Merlin helps him up.

“Oh. I’m sure I’ll sleep like the dead.” Merlin lies, “You’re all looking for signs of attack with your eyes. Stop that.”

“What should we look with?” Lancelot asks, leaning forward.

“You know how you get gut feelings about things? Like how you know going down a path in the woods is a bad idea even if it looks exactly the same as the other path?”

The question is met with considering nods. Well most everyone nods. Gwaine is too busy nursing his shoulder to pay attention. 

“Trust your gut instinct. Try to feel when it’s coming.”

“What are we meant to feel?” Percival asks.

Merlin shrugs awkwardly, “Dunno. For me it feels like pins and needles in my chest. It probably feels different for everyone. Come on. Line up side by side and try to feel when I start gathering magic.”

Gwaine shoots him a wounded look.

“You can stay sitting, but I bet Arthur has maybe another minute before he returns from flirting with Gwen and if he comes back to find you sitting while everyone is up he’s just going to make you run laps.”

Gwaine clambers to his feet and joins the lineup. “When did you get to be such an arse?”

“Oh I’ve always been one. Arthur just used to take the brunt of it before I could use it on you.” Merlin answers.

The knights stand shoulder to shoulder in front of Merlin. Their mouths are all set in hard lines, and Leon is so tense his shoulders meet his ears.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Just relax and close your eyes.”

Merlin takes an extra-long time allowing his magic to pool where he needs it. He rarely has to do this anymore. Magic flows freely in Camelot once again and Merlin has had to gear up for big magic less and less as the months go on.

He finally lets it free, giving the knights a decent shove. All of them stumble back. None of them are as disappointed as Merlin. He’d really wanted this to go well, hoping it would win Arthur a little bit closer to his side again.

“That’s enough for the day.” Arthur says from the sidelines.

_Speak of the devil._

The knights sigh in relief and exit the pitch to return their weapons to the armory. Merlin hadn’t suited up that day, but he goes anyway. Just as much bonding happens afterwards in the armory as it does on the pitch itself and Merlin is still desperate to fill the hole Arthur’s friendship left behind.

“I’m glad you’re on our side, Merlin.” Percival says as he slides the chainmail over his head, “Wouldn’t want to be on your bad side.”

Merlin flinches. It isn’t Percival’s fault but Merlin hates this. Hates knowing that he undermines all his own work by using his magic against the knights.

“I’m not a weapon.” he says sharply.

“What? No. I know. But you’re powerful—“

“Magic isn’t just a weapon either and you would know that if you talked to anyone instead of just listening to how Arthur uses it.”

“Steady on, Merlin.” Gwaine interjects.

Merlin’s heart thuds heavily in his chest, beating so hard he can hardly get a deep breath. He clenches his jaw until it aches, but he can’t stop the thundering in his ears. Percival shouldn’t be the one receiving his anger but he can’t stop himself. He’s tired. So tired. 

He slams the door to the armory open, nearly taking Arthur’s nose off with it as he tries to enter. He shoulders passed Arthur, checking him as hard as he dares. His own footsteps echo off the stone walls as he makes his way towards Gaius’s chamber.

Footsteps chase after him and Gwaine’s voice calls his name. He keeps walking until he feels Gwaine’s hand on his shoulder.

“What was that?” Gwaine asks, uncharacteristically gentle.

“I never wanted…” Merlin shakes his head, “I’ve done so much to protect Arthur and all it’s done is convince people magic is a weapon. I… It’s beautiful, Gwaine. Magic is beautiful. It’s in the very air we breathe and it’s in my blood and no one sees how beautiful it is.”

“Show me.”

“What?” Merlin looks up.

“Show me. We’ll make it a game. If you show me the beauty in magic then I’ll buy you a pint at the Rising Sun.” Gwaine grins.

“Really?”

“We’ll go tonight. Meet me at the outer gate just after dark.”

*

Merlin collapses back in the grass next to Gwaine as the sparks fade from view. They are quiet for a few moments and then Gwaine lets out a chuckle.

“Guess I’m buying you a pint then.”

Merlin grins and turns his head so he can see Gwaine. The grass presses into his cheek, making it itch.

“Yeah? Impressed you did I?”

Gwaine reaches across the grass and squeezes Merlin’s shoulder, “Yeah. Should have known there was more to you than what everyone saw.”

“Wish people would listen to you.” Merlin says, gazing up at the stars again. A cloud briefly drifts across the moon.

“Stop worrying about the princess. He’ll come around eventually.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Merlin asks, giving voice to the worries that have been plaguing his dreams for ages.

“Then we’ll go away.” Gwaine answers.

“We?” Merlin asks incredulously and props himself up on his elbows so he can look at Gwaine, “What about your knighthood?”

“Arthur is a good man and I’m happy to fight for him, but you’re my friend, Merlin. If it came down to it, I’d go with you.”

“Wouldn’t you miss the other knights?”

“I’d miss Percy.” Gwaine admits, “But you’re the truest friend I’ve ever had. Not letting go of that to keep a bloody job.”

Merlin lays back down and gazes at the stars once more. After a few moments he says, “You act like a fool but you’re a better man than people give you credit for.”

Gwaine slaps his arm lightly and sits up, “Don’t offend me, Merlin or I won’t buy that pint. Speaking of, we should be going. We have to be up at the crack of dawn again tomorrow and I want to get a few drinks in me before bed.”

It becomes a weekly tradition. Merlin and Gwaine find themselves in the fields outside Camelot and Gwaine always buys Merlin a drink.

*

“Lancelot you’re with Merlin.” Arthur finishes his instructions for the day, and everyone pairs off as instructed.

Lancelot grins at Merlin and claps him happily on his shoulder. They haven’t had a lot of time to talk lately. Even though they are spending more time in each other’s presence, Arthur rarely gives them the opportunity to pair off. Merlin suspects that it has something to do with the fact Lancelot knew about his magic before Arthur. Arthur’s never been good at being the last to find out about something.

“How’s your sword work coming?” Lancelot asks.

Merlin shrugs, “Terrible. I was never built to wield anything heavier than a spoon.”

“It can’t be that bad. Leon says you’re doing well and he does not give praise easily.”

Merlin just shrugs again. He’s gone from truly abysmal to only kind of terrible. It’s an improvement in its own way he supposes.

They work through some basic forms. Merlin blocks the blows easily. It’s become muscle memory after so many mornings. It helps that Lancelot is gentle, especially compared to Percival. No matter how hard he tries to curb his strength, Percival always manages to jar Merlin’s arm.

“How are you?” Merlin asks conversationally as he blocks another blow.

“How do you mean?” Lancelot asks and lunges. 

Merlin parries, “You know with…” he tilts his head in Arthur’s direction.

“I could ask you the same.” Lancelot retorts and swings at Merlin’s side.

Merlin steps back, “I’m not the one in love with the woman he’s wooing.”

“No, but _I’m_ not the one he’s angry at for having magic.”

“Right side attack!” Arthur calls.

Merlin advances on Lancelot, “I asked first.”

“I asked second.” Lancelot teases, eyebrows tilting up in jest. He parries Merlin’s blow easily.

“I’m fine. Wish I hadn’t lost a friend, but at least I can practice openly and don’t have to skulk about in the shadows any longer. I can save him however I want and he can’t say a damn thing about it.” Merlin lunges again.

Lancelot parries, “He’ll come around.”

“Gwaine seems to think the same.”

“You should listen to him.”

Merlin pauses in his attack and raises his eyebrows, “You want me to listen to Gwaine?”

Lancelot chuckles and shakes his head, “Perhaps not. In this particular instance, though, I think he’s right. Arthur cares too much about you to ever stay mad at you.”

The man in question comes up behind Merlin and squeezes his shoulder hard, “I don’t think I told you to stop, Merlin.”

Merlin pulls his shoulder out of Arthur’s grip, “We were just adjusting our grips.”

“Really?” Arthur asks and makes the infuriating ‘I know you’re lying’ face, “Because I thought I heard laughter. Care to share what’s so funny Merlin?”

“Your face for one, Sire.” Merlin responds.

Lancelot stifles a laugh behind his hand. Arthur scowls.

“Get back to work, Merlin.”

“Yes, Sire.”

Arthur strides back down the line to harass another pair. Lancelot looks at Merlin for a moment clearly fighting a smile.

“You shouldn’t bait him.” He says, taking up his sword.

“He baited me,” Merlin grumbles and picks up his sword as well, “And if he stopped being such a prat we wouldn’t have a problem.”

They practice forms until Gwen arrives with lunch. Again, Merlin stays just long enough not to be rude then hides at the back of the group. Stupid kind perfect Gwen.

He does his best to be amused with the way Elyan eyes Arthur suspiciously after every bite of sandwich. Only a brother could think that not even a king is good enough for his sister.

After lunch they pair off again. This time it is for free form sparring. The goal is to knock the opponent on his ass. Arthur lets them stay in their original pairs and Merlin is relieved. He had visions of Arthur getting revenge for thee face comment by having him pair off with Percival again.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you didn’t answer my question.” Merlin says and dodges out of Lancelot’s way.

“I’m as fine as you are.” Lancelot answers, swinging for Merlin again.

“Really? So you’re totally fine with the woman you love marrying someone else?” Merlin asks and takes an opportunity to lunge which Lancelot parries easily.

“She’s made her choice. What kind of man would I be if I tried to take her choice from her?”

After a bit of back and forth in combat, Merlin asks, “Don’t you ever get tired of being noble?”

“Do you?”

“All the time.” Merlin sighs and strikes Lancelot square in the stomach.

Lancelot stumbles back and for a moment Merlin is so surprised he forgets all about pressing an attack. He recovers just as Lancelot is straightening again, steps forward, and shoves his shoulder hard into Lancelot’s body. He hits the ground with a thump.

Training comes to a hold. Everyone is simply staring at Lancelot struggling to catch his breath after being felled.

“I didn’t sanction magical attacks for this session.” Arthur says critically.

Merlin turns to look at Arthur, eyes wide, “I didn’t.”

“What?”

“I didn’t use my magic.”

A loud whoop comes from Gwaine and Merlin is pulled into a bone crushing hug. On his heels are Leon, Elyan, and Percival. They slap his back and ruffle his hair. When Lancelot recovers he pulls Merlin into a hug almost as hard as Gwaine’s.

“Don’t have an excuse not to take me with you now.” Merlin says and he thinks Arthur maybe looks a bit impressed.

*

“Stop scowling, Merlin.” Gwaine says, nudging him.

“I hate hunting.” Merlin whines as he straps his horse with her saddle.

“I know. You hate the blood and guts.” 

“That’s not what I hate.” Merlin snaps.

“Okay. No need to bite my head off.”

“Sorry.” 

He’s been trying. He really has. He knows he can’t keep snapping at the people closest to him. It isn’t Gaius’s fault that Merlin is in a bad mood. It isn’t Percival’s, or Gwaine’s, or even Gwen’s. He knows he shouldn’t be treating them like dirt just because he’s frustrated with Arthur but he can’t seem to stop himself. 

He’ll be fine for several days, so fine that he’s as calm and noble as Lancelot. Serene even. Then someone will tease him the wrong way and he’s off like a crossbow bolt. He’s slammed doors in Gaius’s face, yelled at Gwaine, and was cold to Gwen.

He’s meant to feel more at peace than ever. He’s completed his destiny; protect Arthur, bring magic back to Camelot. That’s not how he feels. If anything he feels more trapped than ever. It’s like the frustration is bubbling under his skin. The place he used to feel his magic, warm and comforting, he now feels nothing but tar. Thick, hot, burning tar. 

“Why do you hate hunting?” Gwaine asks conversationally.

“I don’t have a problem when it’s for food, but these trips are for sport. I don’t understand the joy in terrifying creatures weaker and smaller than me.” Merlin answers.

“Think of it less about the doing it for the killing, and instead doing it to blow off steam. We spend the whole day at training, or going on patrols, or helping Arthur with plans to protect Camelot. It’s nice to ride out into the woods and be nothing but rambunctious lads again. Might do you some good.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’ve been a walking storm cloud ever since the Princess rejected you. We miss our happy Merlin.”

Merlin sighs and rests his head on Rufus’s side. He lets the smell of horse to soothe him.

“I swear I don’t mean to be such an ass.”

Gwaine claps him on the shoulder and rubs soothingly, “We know. Anyone can see how hard you’ve worked for him over the years. We know how you’re killing yourself for him still with the knight training. We understand why you look like someone pissed in your ale.”

“But you don’t deserve it.” Merlin replies, voice still muffled by Rufus’s side.

“Make it up to us by coming with us without your usual complaints.” Gwaine suggests and mounts.

Merlin follows suit. The rest of the knights are already waiting for him by the time he arrives, but he must look a fright because no one teases him.

The ride feels much like when they rode out to meet the refugees. Everyone is silent and tense. 

“I think we should split up.” Leon suggests when they stop to let the horses drink.

“Why would we split up?” Arthur asks.

“More of a chance we could catch something if we go in different directions.” Leon explains, “I’ll go with Lancelot and Elyan. Percival can be on Gwaine duty.”

“Oi! I said I didn’t like it being called Gwaine duty. I’m not a child.” Gwaine interjects, crossing his arms indignantly.

“You get into as much trouble as one,” Elyan responds, “and we’ve all had Gwaine duty more recently than Percival. It’s his turn.”

Gwaine sighs and turns to Percival, “What do you say big fella? Be my hunting buddy?”

“Fine.” Percival sighs and mounts his horse. He and Gwaine are gone in a flash.

“Wait.” Arthur says suddenly, “That leaves me with Merlin.”

Merlin has a sinking sensation in his stomach. He fixes Lancelot with a death glare and Lancelot shrugs a little. They planned this. They specifically planned to leave him with Arthur. Traitors the lot of them.

“Let me go with Lancelot.” Merlin agrees with Arthur.

Arthur rounds on him, “Am I not good enough company for you Merlin?”

“Don’t pretend like you want to spend time with me now just because I also agreed you. I don’t want to be miserable either.” Merlin snaps back.

The sound of hooves breaks their argument. While they were bickering Lancelot, Leon, and Elyan all rode off. Merlin clenches his fists at his sides and forces the hot tar sensation back down.

Arthur lets out a dramatic sigh and mounts Llamrei, “Come on. I’m not wasting the day just because they decided to stick us together.”

Merlin mounts up again as well, glaring daggers at Arthur’s back as he does. He follows after Arthur as they ride out opposite the other groups. He knows he should take this opportunity to try to get Arthur to talk to him, but he just can’t unstick his jaw to speak.

Arthur is the one to break the silence. Without looking back he asks, “Why did you do it?”

“Why did I do what?” Merlin asks, pulling Rufus up short.

“Why did you spend all that time protecting me?” Arthur asks, wheeling Llamrei around so he can stare Merlin down.

“Oh are we talking about this now?”

“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur snaps, forehead crinkling in frustration, “I asked a question.”

For a moment Merlin considers his options. He thinks about the straight truth ‘a dragon told me to’, and thinks of saying something nasty like ‘don’t know. Cleary wasn’t worth it.’ In the end though, honesty rings true. He’s tired of being at odds with Arthur. Tired of constantly lying and hiding.

“Because I love you.” he answers like it is the simplest thing in the world and not baring his soul.

“Oh.” 

Just then a shout echoes through the woods. It’s followed closely by cheers.

“Come on, Sire. It sounds like they found something.”


	4. Chapter 4

A knock at the door startles Merlin away from his book. As he straightens his neck cracks and he grimaces. He’s been bent over the table for too long.

He walks over to the door, expecting either a request for Gaius, or having to tell a page in no uncertain terms that if the King wanted to speak to him then the King could come down and bother Merlin himself. So far Arthur has not followed up with that request.

Merlin pulls the door open, “How can I—Arthur?”

Arthur is standing in the hallway outside of Gaius’s chambers. He’s not in armor which is a good sign. If it was a threat he’d be fully kitted out for battle.

“Is everything okay? Is someone sick?” Merlin asks, genuinely worried.

Arthur rolls his eyes, “Everyone is fine, Merlin.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

Arthur shifts his weight from foot to foot and scrapes a thumb nail on an invisible smudge. It takes Merlin a moment to recognize that Arthur is uncomfortable.

“I need your help.” he says finally.

“Anything.” Merlin replies automatically.

“I was invited to feast with a band of druids. They heard about the lift on the ban and are eager to make peace.” 

“What does that have to do with me?” Merlin asks.

Arthur sighs and looks into Merlin’s eyes, “It’s not safe for me to go alone but taking a knight might be seen as an act of aggression. And I thought bringing a sorcerer with me might… I don’t know… smooth things over?”

“So you want me to come with you?” Merlin asks.

“It would be greatly appreciated.”

“Alright. When do we leave?”

Arthur smiles a bit. It isn’t the big grin where his whole mouth seems to shift to one side of his face in a way Merlin definitely does not find endearing, but it’s there. A gentle uptick at the corners. It is by far the friendliest look Arthur has given him for ages and Merlin drinks it in. He stores it in his mind so he can turn it over and over later, admiring it for the fine gem it is.

“Think you could be ready in an hour?” Arthur asks.

“Meet you by the stables?” Merlin offers.

Arthur nods and heads off. No doubt he’s going to get his new manservant to pack for him. Merlin never thought he’d miss having to run around doing chores, but he does. He misses being in Arthur’s company all day.

His good mood diminished slightly, Merlin sets about packing his own bag. He loads his leather backpack with some potions in case one of them gets injured in a way he can’t take care of, food for lunch, sleeping clothes, and the neckerchief without any spots or holes. The druids won’t care what he looks like, no doubt they’ll all recognize him as Emrys. 

That realization stops him short. How is he supposed to explain to Arthur that the druids consider their positions equal? That among them, Merlin is a lord?

Merlin groans and smacks his head on the table a few times for good measure. This is going to be a disaster.

Gaius walks in as he’s smacking his head particularly hard and makes a clucking noise, “What are you doing that for?”

“I just agreed to go meet the druids with Arthur.” Merlin responds without lifting his head from the table.

The skin of his cheek sticks to the wood and the edge of the table digs in sharply. Staying bent in this position until the end of time still seems a better option than having to explain to Arthur why druids are kneeling for him.

Gaius pats him comfortingly on the back, “Well don’t keep hitting your head like that. You’re foolish enough as it is.”

“Thanks, Gaius.” Merlin responds dryly.

“Anytime, my boy. Now you better be off.”

Merlin drags himself up from the table, collects his backpack, and heads out to the stable. He’s pleased to find that he’s there moments before Arthur. If it was any other day he would have given Arthur a hard time about it, but lately Merlin has kept his mouth shut unless Arthur speaks first. The irony is not lost on him. He never followed that rule when he was actually a servant.

They lead Llamrei and Rufus into the courtyard and mount up. Merlin’s heart aches at the familiarity of the situation. He long since lost track of the times he and Arthur rode out together just the two of them. The more things change the more they stay the same.

Light breaks through the trees as they go, illuminating the grass and the dirt path with patches of brilliant golden light. The hoof beats on the hard packed path is soothing. The sound lulls Merlin into relaxation and he would have fallen asleep if it weren’t for the world around him. He can feel the hum of magic in the air, can feel it soaking up from the ground into Rufus’s hooves.

Every now and again they pass under a particularly large gap in the branches, and Arthur will briefly glow. The sun will glint off his hair in a brilliant golden halo and illuminate Llamrei. Magic twines in that glow, brilliant and joyful. The promise of a future come at last. Arthur is surrounded by more magic than Merlin can even hope to explain.

It feels right, the two of them riding together again. Merlin feels almost whole. He just wishes Arthur would turn back to grin at him like all those times he’s done in the past, or check on Merlin’s well being under the guise of an insult. Without Arthur’s friendship, Merlin is buffeted in the currents of magic, unable to share its joy.

They break once for lunch and to let the horses rest. Afterwards they head off the beaten path. Druids like their privacy, they aren’t going to set up camp alongside the road, even for Arthur. They reach the Valley of the Fallen Kings at sunset.

A young druid woman is waiting for them to arrive. Her hair is flaming red and curly, she has two braids at her temples to keep it out of her face. She smiles when she sees them.

“King Arthur, we are honored to have you among our people.” she says with a bow.

Merlin stifles a snort when he sees how awkward Arthur looks. His smile is forced and does nothing to hide the uncertainty in his eyes.

“Err… Thank you. I am honored to be here.” Arthur responds and dismounts.

 _Know how to talk to women my ass_ Merlin thinks. The druid women giggles and sends Merlin an amused glance. Damn druid mind speak.

Arthur follows her gaze to Merlin and smiles a little more genuinely this time, “This is Merlin. He’s a sorcerer that has been training to be a knight of Camelot.”

He sounds so proud of that, that Merlin almost forgive him. He hates how Arthur puts distance between them. It wasn’t ‘my friend Merlin’ but ‘a sorcerer’.

“Oh, we know quite well who is. We are honored by your presence as well, Lord Emrys.” she replies and moves to bow.

“Oh please don’t.” Merlin says and it comes out more desperate and stricken than he meant. He hops from Rufus’s back, “It’s very kind of you, but really. It’s okay.”

“As you wish.” The druid woman replies and leads them further into the valley.

Arthur glances between them for a moment and Merlin thinks they may stop and have it out here and now. Thankfully Arthur seems to think better of it and turns on his heel, follows the druid woman with long angry strides.

The camp is set up much like any other camp they’ve seen over the years. Tents dot the roots of the trees and lean-tos tuck against the rocky walls of the valley. Children run about, ignoring the approach of the King. Some chickens strut around the perimeter of the camp in search of grubs.

An older man Merlin assumes is the leader of this particular band steps up and clasps arms with Arthur. Arthur inclines his head respectfully, acknowledging that they are equals. They are, after all, both leaders to their people. Druids don’t believe in royalty, but this man is as close as they get.

“We are honored to have you as our guest tonight, King Arthur.” the man says warmly.

“I am glad we can think of peace,” Arthur responds, “There is nothing I regret more than the persecution of your people, Dorlen.”

“Tonight, we start anew. Peace with one of us leads to peace with us all.” Dorlen says and then turns to look at Merlin and his eyes widen a fraction, “Emrys. I did not expect you. I am most grateful you came.”

Arthur glances between them with a small scowl. Merlin wants the earth to swallow him whole.

“I came at the king’s request. He thought I could help smooth relations, as I have magic.” 

“Very wise indeed,” Dorlen says, “Come. Eat.”

They gather around a campfire and sit on the ground. A simple but tasty stew is passed among them to eat, and Arthur talks with Dorlen like an old friend. Arthur has always had a talent for talking with others.

The talks go late into the night, until Merlin is yawning so hard his jaw cracks. Even Arthur looks like he’s fighting to stay awake. Dorlen takes pity on them with a warm smile.

“Let me escort you to your tent, my lords.” he offers and stands.

“That’s not necessary.” Merlin insists just as Arthur exclaims “Tent?”

Dorlen looks as puzzled as Arthur, “You are two sides of the same coin.”

“What does--” Arthur starts but Merlin cuts him off.

“One tent is fine.”

He really doesn’t want to deal with trying to explain to the druids why he and Arthur are at odds. It would only complicate things. Surely Arthur can stand to be near him for one night.

Dorlen smiles again and escorts them to the tent. It’s slightly larger than the surrounding ones as it was made for two. The fabric is pale grey and patterned in darker grey druidic swirls. Dorlen leaves them with a bow and then they are alone.

Merlin hesitates by the flap of the tent as Arthur moves deeper. Arthur tugs the knot on his cloak harshly, and lets the crimson fabric drop to the floor. Then he tugs his gloves equally as viciously.

“Arthur?” Merlin asks uncertainly.

“Why do they call you Emrys?” Arthur asks with his back to Merlin.

“It’s all a bit confusing. I fit the description of a sorcerer from their prophecies.”

“They treat you like nobility.”

“Emrys might be the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth.” Merlin admits.

Arthur turns to face him, “You’re really that powerful?”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

Arthur turns away again and starts undressing. He struggles with the hard to reach clasps.

“Need help?” Merlin offers.

“No.” Arthur replies shortly.

They fall silent again. Merlin opens his pack and changes into his white sleep shirt and most worn trousers. Arthur still hasn’t turned to look at him. He grabs a couple of the furs the druids provided them and makes a makeshift pallet on the floor. The silence is getting to him. It’s itchy and strained.

“Are you ever going to forgive me?” he asks Arthur’s back.

“I have.” Arthur replies, still not turning around.

“No. You haven’t.” Merlin says still addressing that stupid muscly back swathed in its thin white night shirt, “You may have forgiven me as king but not as a friend. You can barely stand to look at me these days.”

Arthur turns then, staring Merlin down, “What would you have me do? Roll over and pretend you didn’t lie to me for our entire friendship? Pretend like you didn’t think I was my father?”

Merlin stares right back. That same weary feeling he had while talking to Lancelot overwhelms him. He doesn’t feel like fighting anymore.

“No. I suppose not. Just wanted to see if I should give up hope. Get the candle when you go to bed.” He responds and rolls over so Arthur has to talk to _his_ back for once.

After a few moments the candle is extinguished and Merlin listens as Arthur settles into bed. It’s clear neither of them are going to sleep any time soon now, no matter how tired they might actually be. Maybe it’s better that they can’t see each other.

“I never thought you were your father.” Merlin says softly into the dark.

“Then why didn’t tell me?” Arthur’s voice trembles and cracks. So does Merlin’s heart.

“At first it was because I didn’t want to make you choose between me and Uther,” he says, “And then it was because I knew everything would change. It was selfish but I knew I could lose everyone I cared for in Camelot; you, Gwen, Gaius.”

“I thought Gaius knew.” Arthur says bitterly.

“He did, but if you had banished me I couldn’t exactly take him with me.”

“Then why did you stay? Why would you risk getting close only to have to give it all up?”

“There is very little I wouldn’t give up for you.”

The ride home the next morning isn’t nearly as enjoyable as the ride out.

*

Merlin wipes some of the sweat on his forehead with the sleeve of his tunic. They’re nearing the end of training and he is ready to drop. It is one of those days where he is convinced that he was never meant to hold a sword and that this is all futile. He should have just left Camelot instead of sticking stubbornly to the side of a man who can no longer stand to look at him.

A hand enters his field of vision and adjusts his grip on the sword slightly. It makes it even harder to hold up than it was before. He doesn’t whimper but it is a near thing. 

“You’re doing better than before,” Arthur says as he steps away, “Not that it was hard. You could only get better from where you were.”

Merlin nearly drops the sword in surprise, “Was that a compliment?”

The corners of Arthur’s mouth tick up again, “No. It was an observation.”

“Right. Because you’d never compliment me.” Merlin replies sarcastically.

“Quite right.” Arthur agrees and his smile shows just a hint of teeth.

Things are different than they were before they visited the druids. Merlin was convinced that that trip would truly end whatever friendship he had with Arthur. Instead it seems to have softened Arthur a bit. Not all the way back to fond amusement, but enough that he’ll occasionally tease Merlin like he used to. He also stops yelling so much in training. It is back down to its usual level of shouting loud enough so everyone on the practice pitch can hear him.

He’s kinder to Merlin while in training too. He makes an effort, now, to correct Merlin’s form instead of just screaming at him. It doesn’t happen often because all the other knights had stepped in to teach him properly while Arthur was still fuming, but it does happen. When it does Merlin will feel the tingle on his skin well into the night. The sheer relief that all may not be lost is heady. It might be better than the exhilaration of riding on Kilgharrah’s back.

As Arthur’s mood improves, so does Merlin’s. Percival and Elyan begin to invite him to the tavern again instead of using it to escape Merlin’s temper. They’d deny it if he ever asked, but he knows he’s been a right ass. Worse than Arthur in some ways. He goes whenever they invite him even though he doesn’t enjoy drinking all that much.

He wasn’t aware how much things had improved until a day in late summer. Training went well. He wasn’t able to knock Percival down with his sword and Arthur had teased him about it until Merlin challenged him to try to knock Percival down himself. From there it had devolved into bickering.

It felt good. Like a flexing a long unused muscle.

He’s riding high by the time everyone returns to the armory. The knights include them in their horseplay for the first time that day too. Oh there had been no shortage of pranks before but they had never tried to dump a pitcher of water over his head, or tried to pin his arms behind his back. There was definitely concern about Merlin being too delicate for it, and only Arthur had been comfortable enough to get physical. Then once they knew he could hold his own they were met with Merlin’s truly legendary bad mood and were concerned that he might actually turn them to toads. This is the first time in months that Merlin has felt okay.

Even if he and Arthur can never truly be friends again, he can at least have the camaraderie he shares with the knights. That will be good enough. Merlin can live with that.

He’s in the middle of accusing Lancelot of betraying him for siding with Gwaine when Arthur walks in. Everyone pauses in their shenanigans and stares at Arthur. Arthur just grins and shakes his head.

“Don’t stop on my account. I just came to tell Merlin that I need him for a discussion over dinner.” he explains.

“Yes, sire.” Merlin responds even though it wasn’t really a question.

“Excellent. Tell Gaius not to hold dinner for you.” Arthur says and leaves.

Gwaine lets go of Merlin’s arms but he has gleam in his eye. The one that always spells endless teasing for its target.

“Dinner with Princess, Merlin. What should we think?”

“Nothing. I know where your mind goes.” Merlin snarks and finishes putting away his sword.

He spends at least half an hour trying to get ready to meet Arthur. He picks out the best trousers he has, and the purple tunic that actually used to be Arthur’s. He spends most of the time, however, trying to get his hair to lay straight instead of sticking up at the back. Eventually he has to give it up or be late. He knows Arthur has seen him at his worst and so it really shouldn’t matter what he looks like, but he can’t shake the feeling that this is important. That he should have his best foot forward.

Arthur’s chambers look much the same as Merlin remembers them. They are cleaner than they used to be but that is hardly surprising. Merlin spent so much time running around after Arthur, training with Gaius, or trying to fulfill his destiny that keeping perfectly neat chambers was a rather low priority.

Arthur is sitting at his table. He’s wearing the red tunic Merlin is so fond of and his long leather coat that makes him appear more man than royal ass. The familiarity of it all makes Merlin’s head spin. They’ve stood exactly like this thousands of times before, but now things are different.

“Please. Sit.” Arthur says, gesturing at the opposite end of the table.

Merlin pulls the chair out and drops into it clumsily. A plate has already been filled for him and he eyes it curiously until Arthur sighs and makes a shows of dinging into his own food. Merlin takes a bite as well and it turns out that royal food tastes even better hot than leftover.

“Not that I’m not happy to have dinner with you,” Merlin starts cautiously, “but you did mention about needing to have a discussion with me.”

“Right.” Arthur wipes his mouth with his napkin and settles it back in his lap, “I realized that I never gave you the chance to properly explain why you learned magic.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?” Merlin asks.

Arthur is stubborn as hell. Merlin can easily count the number of times he’s changed his mind about something.

“Something Gwaine said to me.” Arthur admits.

“ _You_ listened to _Gwaine_?” Merlin asks incredulously.

“Stranger things have happened.” Arthur says haughtily.

“Like what?”

“You being a sorcerer.” Arthur responds and he can’t disguise the note of hurt in his voice. Merlin knows him too well.

Merlin shifts guiltily in his seat. He doesn’t want to linger on the pain any longer.

“Gwaine said something?” he prompts.

Arthur nods, taking a sip of wine, “He pointed out that you were more loyal to me than any other man I hoped to meet, and that if I didn’t stop…”

“Didn’t stop what?” Merlin asks, softly. 

“That if I didn’t stop punishing you,” Arthur spits the word out like it leaves a foul taste behind, “You would eventually grow tired of saving my ‘sorry behind’ and leave.”

When it comes right down to it, he’s not sure he could. They’ve been attached at the hip for so long he’s sure that truly losing Arthur would be like losing a limb. Just with these last few months of distance, Merlin has been a terror. He couldn’t imagine what kind of man he’d become if he left Arthur in anger. He suspects he might start to look and sound suspiciously like Morgana.

“I didn’t learn magic.” Merlin says, ignoring the implications of Arthur’s conversation with Gwaine.

“I don’t understand.” Arthur says with a slight frown.

“Or… well… I did, but that’s not why I have magic.” Merlin babbles.

“Perhaps it’s best if you start at the beginning.” Arthur says, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I was moving things with my mind before I could talk. Used to drive my mum mad because I’d just magic my toys into my cradle.”

“You were born with magic. I thought that was impossible.”

“Not impossible, but very very rare,” Merlin explains, “I was able to use magic instinctively to keep our vegetable garden warm in winter, or for the pranks that Will and I got up to long before I had even heard of Camelot. My mother sent me here because attitudes in Essetir were starting to change towards magic. Cenred executed anyone with magic who wouldn’t use it to serve him, and if they did agree he would keep their magic locked away in cold iron until he had use of them. Can’t be sure, but I think because I was born with it, cold iron might have killed me. So she sent me here hoping that Gaius could protect me and teach me.”

“And the saving my life countless times?” Arthur asks.

“When I got here there was this voice in my head that wouldn’t leave me alone. When I finally tracked it down, it was a great bloody dragon and he went on and on about us having a great destiny. Kept saying that we were meant to unite Albion and bring magic back to Camelot.”

“That wouldn’t happen to be the dragon that burned down a quarter of Camelot before I killed him would it?” Arthur asks flatly.

“He isn’t dead. His name is Kilgharrah. He’s a bit of prat too, actually.” Merlin answers.

“What? How—no. I don’t want to know.” Arthur sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Balinor. He was my father,” Merlin explains, “I got his gifts when he died.”

Arthur looks properly horrified, “And I told you he wasn’t worth your tears.”

“Not your fault. You didn’t know. I barely knew him anyway. Never met him until we tracked him down.” Merlin picks at a splinter coming loose at the end of the table.

“So we were part of a prophecy.” Arthur states, clearly trying to change the subject.

“Yeah. He said we were two sides of the same coin.”

“Like what Dorlen said.” Arthur remembers.

“Yup.”

“So all this time, our friendship, it was just because a dragon told you it was your duty.” Arthur sounds almost forlorn and when Merlin looks up, Arthur’s mouth is turned down at the corners. 

“At first. But even you have to admit you were an even bigger prat back then than you are now.” Merlin points out.

“And after?”

“My destiny was to keep you alive. It said nothing about caring about you,” Merlin insists, staring into Arthur’s eyes. If he gets nothing else out of this conversation, Merlin wants him to get this. That their friendship was important, “I already told you that there was very little I would not give up if it meant you were safe and happy.”


	5. Chapter 5

Their conversation seems to have done some good. Arthur has continued to thaw. He isn’t ready to snap at Merlin at a moment’s notice anymore but he does seem distracted. The knights land far more blows on him during training than they usually do, and far more than they’ve been able to since Merlin and Arthur’s falling out.

Merlin is just opening the door to Gaius’s chambers when he nearly collides with someone standing outside. To his surprise it’s Arthur, here twice in nearly as many weeks. He holds out a bundle of flowers at Merlin. Actually it’s more like he shoves them into Merlin’s chest, nearly crushing the delicate petals.

“For saving my life.” Arthur mutters and keeps his head turned away from Merlin.

“Is this an apology?” Merlin teases, grin slowly spreading across his face.

“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur grumbles and a definite blush spreads across his cheeks.

Merlin grins even harder, “They’re nice.”

“Gwen’s suggestion,” Arthur says, “She said you probably hadn’t been given flowers before so it would be special.”

“Well thank Gwen for me.” Merlin says, still grinning.

“Stop looking at me like that, you dollop head.”

“That’s still my word.” Merlin points out.

“And it still fits you better than me.” Arthur responds and strides off down the staircase.

Merlin steps back inside for a moment and makes sure to get his flowers set up in a proper vase of water before he leaves to run errands for Gaius.

*

“So none of you can feel it?” Merlin asks, frustrated.

Leon shakes his head, dusting the dirt from his clothes. He gets similar looks from Elyan and Percival. Gwaine shrugs.

“I think I start to feel it, but then can’t be sure it’s because of your magic, or because I’m willing it to happen.” Lancelot admits.

“I’m calling it,” Merlin says decisively, “It’s getting boring knocking all of you over.”

“Only Arthur or I can call time on practice.” Leon points out.

“Keep hitting training dummies then, but I’m not using my magic against you anymore until I get a chance to look up a better way to help.” 

Arthur comes up to them, watching their staring match like it’s a riveting duel and not just a battle of wills. When it becomes clear neither Merlin, nor Leon are going to back down, Arthur bodily steps between them.

“I think Merlin might, this once, have a point. We can’t keep knocking men on their backsides, no matter how much Gwaine deserves it. Let’s call training early. Everyone deserves a bit of time to themselves.”

Never has there been such a mad rush for the armory. The rush back out is just as mad, and it leaves Merlin behind with Arthur. At least they can be alone in the same room now without it devolving into a shouting match.

“Thanks.” Merlin says softly.

“Leon can be a bit set in his ways.” Arthur responds easily but doesn’t look up from sharpening his sword.

Merlin is content to sit in silence for a while. Polishing the mail he’s been using for training is meditative in its own way, and it feels like old times again, spending time with Arthur as they work.

“Do you think we can go back to the way things were?” Merlin asks and it makes Arthur pause.

“No.”

“Oh.” Merlin feels his heart sinking like it’s been weighted with lead.

Arthur reaches out suddenly, clasping Merlin’s wrist, “I just meant that I couldn’t very well make you a manservant again, given all that you are.”

Merlin smiles hesitantly, “Friends?”

“Friends.” Arthur agrees.

“Since we’re friends again.” Merlin starts.

Arthur groans dramatically and takes his hand off Merlin’s wrist. Merlin misses the pressure and heat immediately.

“Are you about to be nosy?” 

“Hey. I was the one that told you to go after Gwen. I think I deserve to know how things are going. Should we expect an announcement of marriage soon?”

Arthur picks up his sword and begins polishing it, “We are no longer courting.”

Merlin nearly drops the mail, “What? Why?”

“She loves Lancelot and he loves her.” Arthur answers but keeps his attention focused on his sword. Merlin doesn’t call him on it. Emotions don’t come naturally to the Pendragons unless it’s anger.

“ _You_ love her.” Merlin points out gently.

“I know and I do believe she would make an excellent queen. But my first love will always be Camelot. I will never be able to treat her with all the care and affection she deserves. Lancelot can, and will. He’s a better match for her.”

“I’m sorry.” Merlin says. He doesn’t know what else there is to say.

“It is what it is. I still believe in marrying for love, but I need to find someone who is in a position to be as dedicated to Camelot as I am,” Arthur finally looks up from his sword, “What about you and Gwaine?”

“What about me and Gwaine?” Merlin asks, completely lost.

“Should we expect a marriage announcement from the two of you?” Arthur asks.

“What? Why would we be announcing a marriage?”

“Oh. Aren’t you two courting?”

“No! Why on earth would I court Gwaine?” Merlin nearly shouts.

“I just thought because he wanted to see a demonstration of magic outside of training, and defended you to me…” Arthur responds awkwardly, “and you spend at least one night a week with him.”

“I am not courting Gwaine.” Merlin says firmly, “He’s a good friend that lets me goof off with my magic. If anyone bothered to ask, I would give them a demonstration too.”

“That’s settled then.” Arthur says and they sit staring at each other for several long moments.

Merlin stands abruptly and puts his mail away just for something to do. The air between them is tight, awkward. It makes his skin crawl. He leaves after a hurried goodbye to Arthur.

*

The night air is cool. Autumn is just around the corner now, and soon everyone will need to start stocking for the winter. For now though, children can continue to run wild, and no one need worry about food stores.

Merlin shoves his hands in his pockets as he crosses the courtyard. His jacket keeps off the worst of the chill. He’s running late to meet Gwaine for their weekly game, but considering how much of a pain he’s been about getting his ass kicked by Merlin’s magic he can wait a few moments.

“Merlin!” a voice Merlin recognizes calls.

He turns around and, sure enough, Arthur is practically chasing him down.

“Yes, sire?” Merlin asks once Arthur is closer.

“You’re meeting Gwaine tonight?”

“Yes.”

“I was wondering if I could come.” Arthur says. Well, that explains why he’s wearing the blue cloak Merlin has come to know as the ‘sneak around cloak’.

“You want to see me practice magic?” Merlin asks, not daring to let his traitorous heart beat with hope.

“I heard that you were upset with Percival a few weeks ago because he was treating your magic as a weapon. It’s why these nights with Gwaine started right?”

“Yes.”

“If magic isn’t a weapon, then I want to see what it is for myself, and who better to observe than the most powerful sorcerer to ever live?”

Merlin can’t really argue with that logic and he doesn’t want to. All he’s ever wanted is for Arthur to see his magic and understand it for all the beauty and terror and joy it is. He won’t blow it now that the time has come. He’d do anything to be friends with Arthur properly again.

“Let’s go.” Merlin says and starts to lead the way to the lower gate.

“How many times must I remind you that I’m king and give the orders?” Arthur asks, but he’s already following on Merlin’s heels.

“Probably more often now that you can’t lop my head off for having magic. If you thought I was insufferable before, just you wait.” Merlin jokes.

“God help me.” 

Gwaine is waiting for them in the field already by the time they get there. He eyes Arthur suspiciously and his eyes flick to Merlin with concern. Merlin just shrugs. Arthur had come in good faith. There’s no reason for Gwaine to be worried.

Merlin spends several minutes showing Gwaine new spells. He particularly enjoys the confusion on Gwaine’s face when Merlin creates a perfect illusory double of him. Gwaine actually pulled his sword on it only for it to cut through thin air.

“Still working on the bit where it’s firm enough to talk and touch. Could conjure a voice by the time I was ten but it seems like trying to put the two things together is more difficult than it sounds.”

“The day I lifted the ban,” Arthur suddenly pipes up from the boulder he’d been sitting on, “You conjured a dragon made of sparks.”

“I did.” Merlin agrees and Gwaine punches him on the shoulder, “Ow! What was that for?”

“You showed the Princess that but not me?”

“I didn’t think that would impress you. Almost anyone can conjure something like that.”

“Could you show me again?” Arthur asks, ignoring their bickering.

Merlin shrugs and conjures the shape again. It’s even more brilliant in the dark. It glides over the city, illuminating roofs and windows. Merlin moves his hands and it sends the dragon tumbling over itself in the sky, somersaulting joyfully in midair.

“Can you make it any other shape?” Arthur whispers, like he’s afraid of breaking Merlin’s concentration.

Merlin bites his lip, thinking. Then he grins, murmurs the right word, and the dragon bursts apart in a shower of sparks only to reform into a unicorn. It tosses its head regally, and prances across the sky.

“First time you sacrificed yourself for me.” Merlin whispers so only Arthur can hear.

Arthur looks at him with an unreadable emotion in his eyes, “But not the last.”

Gwaine chooses that moment to break into the moment. He nudges Merlin playfully on his left side and says, “Alright. Enough light shows. I owe you a drink.”

The tavern keep is already waiting with two tankards when they arrive but rushes off to fill another for Arthur. They sit at the usual table in the corner and joke with each other until Gwaine gets drunk enough to test his luck with one of the women in attendance. 

Once again Merlin and Arthur are left alone together. Merlin isn’t drunk but he is full of enough ale that he feels pleasantly warm and any discomfort remaining with Arthur is lost in a sea of contentment.

Arthur nudges Merlin’s shoulder much like Gwaine did. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are unfocused. He'd the mistake of trying to out drink Gwaine and is clearly paying for it.

“Your magic. It’s…” Arthur slurs before trailing off.

“What? Terrifying? Unnatural?” Merlin demands, annoyance sparking through the haze.

“I was going to say beautiful.” Arthur answers, and he grins that perfect lopsided grin that shows off his crooked teeth.

*

“Everyone says you’re battle-readiness is coming along, Merlin.” Arthur says, resting his hands on his hips.

He’d been hovering over Merlin all afternoon as they worked. When he thought of having Arthur’s attention again, he hadn’t thought of being watched like a hawk. It’s really quite annoying.

Merlin steps back from sparring with Elyan and plants the tip of his sword in the ground like he’s seen Arthur do hundreds of times.

“You’d know better than me, sire. You’re the one who’s been mothering me all day.”

“I have not been mothering.” Arthur says and his face scrunches indignantly, “Besides, it’s hard to get the measure of a fighter until you’re up against them.”

“Well you’re welcome to cut in anytime.” Merlin responds.

“Excuse me?”

“Well you’re the only one I haven’t fought. Even Leon let me hack at his shins and throw him around with magic.”

“I hardly see what you fighting Leon has to do with anything.” Arthur says stubbornly.

Merlin rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. The chill of early autumn blows on the breeze that weaves its way around the training grounds. It raises goosebumps on his exposed forearms.

“Well if I’m going to be a knight I have to fight you sometime. What’s the rule? Last one minute against you?”

“That is the rule. Good memory.” 

“You say that like it’s a surprise.” 

“Well you have been known to be an idiot.” Arthur says, grinning.

“You’re right. And you’d only look like a fool being taken down by an idiot.” Merlin fires back.

Arthur’s eyebrows climb well towards his hairline and his mouth hangs open in amused shock.

“Are you saying you think you can beat me? Are you forgetting the first time we met?”

“I’ve been fighting with one hand tied behind my back, sire. I have a feeling things might play out differently.” 

“Oh just fight him already,” Gwaine groans, “Ever since you two kissed and made up the flirting has been unbearable.”

Arthur and Merlin turn to look at Gwaine. He’s sitting on the bench, hands hanging casually between his knees. His hair is cut short after a bet with Percival gone wrong.

“Ignore him. He’s just grumpy that he’s not nearly so charming without being able to flip his hair.” Merlin says and Arthur snorts.

Gwaine narrows his eyes at the two of them, “Fight each other. Not me.”

Merlin plucks his sword back out of the turf and flashes Arthur a sunny grin. Arthur stares at him for a moment and then shakes his head. He glances skyward and mutters something that sounds distinctly like ‘god help me’.

“Fine. Leon, pass me a sword would you?”

“Of course, sire.” Leon responds and hands over one from the table that was placed along the edge of the sword.

“Someone keep track of how long Merlin lasts.” Arthur calls, “If you’re taking bets I say he doesn’t last ten seconds.”

“Ass.” Merlin mutters but takes up the opening position all the same.

Elyan calls it and then the two of them are moving. It’s almost like a dance. Merlin has been watching Arthur fight for years and knows exactly what moves he favors. He can bob and weave, keeping just out of reach of Arthur’s sword. If it came to metal against metal, Arthur would win. Merlin has come far enough to be a deft hand against someone crudely trained such as a bandit, but against a proper swordsman like Arthur he wouldn’t stand a chance. So staying out of reach is his best shot.

Arthur catches him by surprise, using a variation of Gwaine’s sleight of hand. It catches Merlin on the shoulder and Merlin staggers sideways, but manages to keep his feet. Arthur takes advantage and swings again. Merlin catches the blow with his own sword, but it sends him further off balance.

Merlin sees the exact moment Arthur gets over confident. The exact moment when he thinks Merlin is no threat. The look of concentration on his face morphs into a smug smile. His blows come a bit slower. Merlin comes back hard with is sword. It isn’t enough to break through Arthur’s defenses, but he never expected it to. Arthur is forced to take a small step back and as his foot is in the air, Merlin reaches out with his magic and yanks. Arthur goes crashing to the ground.

Gwaine lets out a cheer and Lancelot looks pleased. The other three are just as stunned as Arthur is.

Merlin steps up and offers his hand to Arthur, “No shame in losing.”

Arthur takes the offered hand and hauls himself back to his feet. When they come face to face, Merlin’s gut clenches. There’s something fiery in Arthur’s eyes and for a moment Merlin worries he broke the careful trust they built over the last few weeks.

Then Arthur’s face breaks into a smile, and he reaches out with his free arm. Merlin blinks. Arthur has never hugged him before. Why he would start now is a complete mystery. Arthur’s arm comes to wrap around Merlin’s neck and Merlin leans into it. He’s waited for ages for Arthur to touch him again.

He really should have known better. Suddenly Arthur’s arm tightens and he twists Merlin around so he’s in a headlock. Arthur frees his hand from Merlin’s and uses it to rub his knuckles in Merlin’s hair.

“What was that about losing, Merlin?” Arthur asks with a pleased chuckle.

“Let go you prat!” Merlin shouts, struggling futilely against Arthur’s grip. He doesn’t struggle very hard.

“Not until you admit I won.” Arthur responds.

“Fine! You won! Let me go!” Merlin says and Arthur releases him.

Merlin staggers away and straightens up, rubbing at his neck. He tries to look offended but he isn’t fooling anyone, and he knows it. “Honestly all this talk about honor and you put me in a headlock.”

Arthur lets out a burst of laughter, “You’re not a knight yet.”

“True and I really think I should reconsider. After all, who wants to spend all day being shouted at by an idiot?” Merlin teases.

Arthur gasps and charges at Merlin, “I’ll show you an idiot.”

Merlin takes off running. Arthur catches up to him a moment later and then there’s brief struggle where-in Arthur tries to put Merlin in a headlock again, and Merlin attempts to use his magic to get at the ticklish spots he remembers from accidental brushes when dressing Arthur. The end result is that he somehow turns Arthur’s hair a brilliant shade of pink.

Merlin steps back, frowning a bit, “Well. That’s new.”

Arthur’s shout echoes off the walls of the castle.


	6. Chapter 6

It turns out there is one massive problem with being on good terms with Arthur. Their old dynamic, with all the teasing and scrapping, brings back Merlin’s feelings full force. He forgot how much he used their jokes to put a wall up between his feelings for Arthur and Arthur himself. He’s so relieved to be friends again that he was unprepared for the sheer force of his love for Arthur.

There are days on the training ground now where Merlin can barely breathe because of it. Watching Arthur train has nothing on actually being up and close and personal with it. There is no denying Arthur is good at what he does and Merlin finds it incredibly unfair that he manages to make being covered in sweat look good. 

It’s also not fair that their reconciliation comes when Arthur looks his best. Early autumn has always been when everything aligned to make Arthur look his most princely. A summer of training outdoors has lightened his hair to a white-gold (now that Merlin has allowed the pink hair enchantment to fade), his skin has just the hint of tan, and all his muscles are finely honed once more. 

If that wasn’t bad enough, Merlin also forgot just how much their old dynamic involved touching each other. Sure, he’d helped Arthur in and out of his courtly attire, but there had been more touches too. Whenever Merlin said something rude and Arthur smacked him lightly on the head or arm. There had also been times when they were teasing each other that Arthur would give up trying to fight with his words and just give Merlin a shove.

Now the touching is back full force. Arthur had joined the weekly magic night with Gwaine after that first time, and he came whenever he could. When they are in the tavern after, Arthur will casually toss his arm over Merlin’s shoulder; heavy and warm. Sometimes he ruffles Merlin’s hair playfully at the same time.

Merlin can’t just excuse it as Arthur having too much to drink either. It extends into training too. If he manages to get a few blows in on Arthur or the knights, Arthur will inevitably clap him on the shoulder in approval. He’s also taken to adjusting the borrowed armor Merlin uses for training. 

It makes Merlin feel like he’s drowning. Underneath all the warmth from their friendship, there is a current of something darker. Mostly guilt. Merlin still hates how he lied to Arthur all this time, and the return of his unrequited feelings feels like another lie. Another betrayal. He’s just as stuck as with his magic.

He can’t tell Arthur because Arthur doesn’t feel the same way. He can’t _not_ tell Arthur because it’s a lie and he’d promised no more lies between them. He can’t tell Arthur without ruining their friendship. He can’t not tell Arthur for the exact same reason. So his brain goes around in circles every night until he’s too dizzy to keep going.

He thinks maybe Lancelot and Gwaine suspect what’s in his head. Though for once, Gwaine shows remarkable tact and doesn’t mention it. He does however keep sending Merlin sideways smirks during training.

*

This is only the second time that Merlin has actually stood around the round table as an equal. He still technically hasn’t been knighted despite lasting more than a minute against Arthur on the training a field. He is still being treated like a knight all the same.

He stands between Gwaine and Percival. Spread across the table are various reports from the borders. They finish deciding where patrols are needed the most and everyone seems relieved to be finished for the day.

“Before you all go,” Arthur states and the knights stifle a collective groan, “I just received word from Lothian. King Lot is hoping to make peace with Camelot. We’re to host him in just over a month. He plans to stay in Lothian until the crops are pulled in, and then travel here.”

“Anything we need to be prepared for, Sire?” Leon asks.

Arthur shakes his head, “I have no concerns for security. King Lot has never been particularly aggressive with Camelot. We are, however, hosting a tourney.”

That catches Merlin’s attention. He straightens up, scowling, and leans around Percival so he can get a good look at Arthur. This, at least, is solid ground for him. Easy to put aside any guilt in favor of trying not to murder Arthur with his bare hands.

“Is that really a good idea?” Merlin asks.

Arthur turns to look at him, entirely puzzled, “I thought you of all people would agree we need allies.”

“Not the peace treaty, you clotpole. The tourney.” 

“What… on earth is wrong with a tourney?” 

“That’s the perfect time to try to kill you.” Merlin insists, “In fact I’ve saved your life from unsavory tourney participants no less than three times.”

Arthur shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. Merlin considers strangling him with the ties of his stupid blue tunic.

“None the less,” Arthur continues, “Tradition demands a tourney and a feast. So I want all of you to be prepared to make Camelot proud. You are dismissed.”

All the knights shuffle off. None of them seem to care one whit about what Merlin just revealed. Thick, the lot of them.

Merlin strides around the edge of the table and comes to stop right in front of Arthur, “Why aren’t you more worried about this?”

“There’s nothing to worry about.” Arthur says simply and gathers the stack of reports back into a neat pile.

“How do you know?” Merlin demands.

Arthur turns to him then, a soft smile gracing his lips, “Because you would never let anything bad happen to me.”

*

King Lot arrives about a month and a half later. He rides in at sunset and though his party is small it is resplendent. Flags of purple and silver fly overhead. Lot heads the charge as they ride into the courtyard. Behind him are a handful of knights, and in the center pack are two people who must be his children. They aren’t wearing armor and they have the same forehead as their father.

Merlin feels strange standing with the knights. To be fair, it is partly because he’s the only one not wearing a billowing Pendragon-red cape. It makes him feel under dressed and exposed. The strangest part of it all is not standing directly at Arthur’s side. He’d spent years mastering the art of speaking out of the corner of his mouth just so he could make Arthur laugh with a constant stream of critiques for the arriving guests. It is gratifying to realize that no one has taken his old spot on the steps.

Arthur steps forward, looking resplendent in his cape and crown, and shakes Lot’s hand. They exchange some sort of greeting that Merlin is too far away to hear. Something Arthur says pleases Lot, though because he tosses his head back with a laugh.

Then Lot’s children step up. The son bows, looking dazed to be in Arthur’s presence. The daughter curtsies with elegance and poise, and blushes prettily when Arthur kisses her hand. Merlin forces the ringing in his ears to recede. Arthur was never meant to be his, and if he and Princess Edith fall in love then good for them.

There’s a flurry of movement then as Lot’s party enters the castle, and servants go about their duties. The knights go introduce themselves to Lot’s men and lead them off to the stables. Merlin does not join them. Instead he makes his way to Arthur.

“I’ve been thinking.” he says as he approaches.

“I have learned to dread when you’ve been thinking.” Arthur says, resigned.

Merlin shoots him an unimpressed look and continues like nothing happened, “I don’t think I should compete in the tourney.”

“I’ll admit that I hadn’t thought too closely about whether or not you’d participate, but I assume you have a good explanation for why you shouldn’t?”

“Right now the only people who know about… you know,” he wiggles his fingers like Gwaine always does when he’s trying to be subtle, “Are people who have shown loyalty to you. I’m unlikely to get very far without it, and if word gets out things could get difficult.”

“Morgana.” Arthur guesses, looking tired.

“Exactly. I think it’s best to keep it between us until we can’t anymore.”

“Have you always been this wise?” Arthur asks, sounding a bit annoyed.

“It comes and goes.” Merlin answers with a grin.

“Alright. You don’t have to participate in the tourney, but I do want you to help me with my armor.”

“Shouldn’t your new manservant do that?” 

“Perhaps, but there’s no one I trust more than you to keep me safe should someone try to cheat,” Arthur answers, clasping Merlin’s shoulder, “And it gives you an excuse to be close to me on the pitch. Easier to keep an eye out if you’re nearby.”

Merlin’s grin widens. A pleased curl of magic surges through him at Arthur’s trust. “It’s what I do best.”

*

The morning of the first day of the tourney there’s a chill in the air. Dew hangs heavy on the blades of grass in the pitch. For the time being the pitch is empty and Merlin takes it all in. The stands are draped in banners of red and gold as well as silver and purple. Arthur’s seat is smack dab in the center to afford him the best view of the proceedings. Next to it as another chair set up for King Lot.

Merlin still thinks Arthur is short of a marble for participating, even if Merlin is there to foil any attempt to kill him. There are too many variables to try to keep track of for Merlin to be entirely comfortable with the arrangement, but as usual Arthur got his way. So Merlin sucks it up. 

At least he convinced Arthur to participate in only one of the events. He spends most the week naming victors, handing out prizes, and getting along with Lot. It is far easier to protect Arthur when he’s sitting in the stands than when he parades around whacking other men with blunt objects. Royals and their damn tourneys. 

Still, the day of single combat had to arrive at some point. He heads to Arthur’s chambers just before midday on the final day of the tourney. The knights from both kingdoms have been warming up since dawn, but Arthur had kingly duties to attend to. Merlin knocks on the door and doesn’t wait for an answer. He never did before.

Arthur is staring out the window, hands on hips. He turns when he hears the door open and his shoulders sag slightly when he sees Merlin.

“You’re late.” Arthur says but there’s no heat to it.

Merlin just smiles back, “You knew I would be. Honestly I don’t know why you don’t just tell me to be here earlier than you need me so that I arrive exactly on time.”

Arthur’s eyes go distant for a moment, considering, “Not a bad idea actually. Now help me get dressed.”

Merlin could do this with his eyes closed. He falls into the old routine with surprising ease. Gambeson, mail, pauldron, vambrace, gauntlet, cape, helm, sword. It’s soothing to return to their old reality like this. He sends Arthur an amused glance, and Arthur’s mind must be running in a similar vein to Merlin’s because he smiles back.

“Now you’re ready to go hit people.” Merlin teases and doesn’t stumble like he used to when Arthur gives him a playful shove. Apparently knight’s training is good for something.

“Still expect you to come down to the pitch with me.” Arthur points out and starts leading the way.

“I wouldn’t have to chase you all over the place if you had called this off in the first place.” Merlin grumbles.

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Arthur stops on his way to the staging tent to warm up. As he works through some forms in order to loosen his muscles, Merlin uses the opportunity to glance around and take in the competitors. They look surreptitiously at Arthur as he works but Merlin can’t feel any malice in their gaze. They appear to be just looking for advantages to use when fighting. Fairly typical stuff really.

Sufficiently warmed up, Arthur moves to the staging tent and Merlin follows. They stand in the exit to the pitch, watching the first fight together.

“What do you think?” Arthur asks without turning his head from the fight.

“Until someone tries to kill you, you’ll do fine.”

“Just fine?” Arthur asks with a small grin, “Such faith you have in me, Merlin. What happened to destiny and the once and future king?”

“Maybe destiny doesn’t work on cabbageheads.”

Arthur snorts and nudges Merlin with his elbow. The first knight goes down, and Arthur settles his helm on his head and strides onto the pitch.

Merlin watches the fight with baited breath. Arthur takes the other man down within three minutes. That doesn’t stop Merlin from fretting all through the day until Arthur is finally crowned victor. 

That night is the feast in honor of the newly signed peace treaty and the victors from the tourney. It’s also the first time Merlin has attended a feast without being required to serve. Instead he sits with the knights and gets to listen to Gwaine get drunker as the night wears on. The knights are not high ranking enough to have personal servants, thank god. Merlin would have dies of embarrassment being served by his former coworkers. Instead a servant will occasionally pass by and refill the jug the knights serve themselves from, or switch out an empty tray for a full one.

The feast is a raucous affair. Apparently Princess Edith’s presence was the only thing standing between the typical party shenanigans and complete chaos. While she sits at the table there’s still shouting and ribbing. A few performers even take to the center of the room and, to Merlin’s surprise and delight, a few magic users step out to perform a little light show.

Princess Edith’s influence does not last long. She excuses herself after three courses. Merlin can’t hear what she says but he assumes she claims a headache or something equally ladylike. She sweeps from the banquet hall, blue dress trailing artfully behind her. The second the door closes behind her, chaos reigns.

A musician comes out of the woodwork and begins to perform a lewd song. Knights challenge each other to inane contests like arm wrestling or drinking. Merlin is not above placing bets on Gwaine drinking more than anyone else. It’s easy money.

Through it all, Lot and Arthur watch the merrymaking with amused expressions. Occasionally, Arthur will shoot Merlin a look that reads something like ‘I wish I was down there having fun’. Merlin just rolls his eyes back, and goes back to watching yet another fool challenge Percival to a feat of strength. If they wanted easy money, they should have challenged Merlin. He has no doubt that he’d lose.

He glances back up at Arthur and his stomach drops. The easy, relaxed smile from before is gone. In its place is a frown. Arthur looks concerned but, thankfully, not afraid. Merlin still can’t relax despite knowing Arthur is safe, he’s never been good at staying calm when any of his friends are upset.

Arthur inclines his head towards King Lot and murmurs something. Lot nods amiably and takes a sip from his goblet. Merlin tries to make eye contact with Arthur again, but he doesn’t seem inclined to look away from his plate. 

Gwaine chooses that moment to try to drunkenly swan dive off his chair and it takes Percival, Leon, and Elyan to stop him. Lancelot grins at Merlin and shrugs. They’ve both long grown used to Gwaine’s antics. Neither of them are sure why it still takes the others by surprise. Most of the time, Gwaine isn’t even as drunk as he seems. It’s all a ruse to put people at ease around him. The fact that it works so well even on his fellow knights is a testament to how powerful an image he creates.

“Come on,” Merlin sighs, “Don’t want Arthur strangling you.”

Gwaine leans heavily on Merlin’s shoulder and Percival steps up to take the other side. Together they maneuver Gwaine out of the banquet.

The halls of the castle are cool and, thankfully, empty as they go. Gwaine has regained his feet, proving once again that he’s not nearly as drunk as he seems. Though apparently the drinking contests have gotten to him because his sentences come out an unintelligible slur.

They reach Gwaine’s quarters and Percival hefts Gwaine up on his own. He smiles gratefully at Merlin.

“Thanks.”

“He’s my friend too.” 

Merlin is at a loss after that. He could go back to the feast but Lancelot was preparing to leave to spend time with Gwen, and as much as Merlin likes Elyan and Leon he isn’t nearly as close to them as he is with Gwaine or Lancelot. He doesn’t need to serve Arthur, his only other friend still in attendance, so he wanders away from Gwaine’s door, directionless.

Finally he gives up trying to find anything else to do, and takes the turn that will take him back to Gaius’s. Gaius should still be eating with Geoffrey for the time being. It will give him the opportunity to poke at the new spell he’d been experimenting with.

He settles in at Gaius’s table, book spread out before him. The incantation itself isn’t that difficult, but it’s a spell that deals with intent. Merlin, used to magic always sparking at his fingertips, has never had to explain himself to magic before. It feels like an ill-fitting pair of trousers every time he tries. If he can pull it off, however, he might be one step closer to helping the knights to feel magic before it’s used.

He loses track of time while working. Several candle marks have passed by the time the door to Gaius’s chambers opens. Merlin doesn’t look up, expecting Gaius to stumble straight to bed.

“I was hoping you might be here.” Arthur says.

Merlin pulls his attention away from the book and watches Arthur walk over and collapse on the bench opposite from Merlin.

“Everything okay?” Merlin asks.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because you looked upset at the feast and now you’re here looking for me.” 

Arthur runs a hand through his hair. He looks worn.

“King Lot wants me to marry Princess Edith.”

“I’m guessing you don’t want to.” Merlin surmises, and closes his book, giving Arthur his undivided attention.

“I don’t. He also offered Gareth’s hand if I preferred. Apparently, Gareth’s older brother is Lot’s heir.”

“Oh,” Merlin says stupidly, “Do you want to marry Gareth?”

“No!” Arthur shouts, practically exploding. He begins pacing frantically; up and down the length of Gaius’s chambers.

“Right.” Merlin says awkwardly.

“I still want to marry for love,” Arthur insists, “but…”

“But what?” Merlin asks and gets up from the bench so he can interrupt the pacing, “Stop doing that. You’re making me dizzy.”

“Oh. God forbid I make _you_ uncomfortable, Merlin.” Arthur snaps.

“I’m trying to help,” Merlin snaps back.

Arthur sags a little, and tugs at his hair again, “What if I’m not meant to marry for love? My father didn’t. Love came later.”

“Your father also committed genocide.” Merlin points out, “Maybe don’t take too many queues from him.”

Arthur snorts and Merlin can see the flash of a grin. The topic of Uther has been sensitive long before Arthur knew about Merlin’s magic. Since that revelation, the subject has been even touchier. Arthur can see the flaws now, at least enough for Merlin to crack one joke a month.

“I don’t know what to do.” Arthur admits finally, “Lot has already signed but if he decides I’m not committed enough he can keep returning and asking for more. I can’t put my people in jeopardy because of a dream that the person I love might love me back.”

Merlin pointedly ignores the mention of Arthur’s new infatuation. It makes his heart squeeze painfully, but it has never been in his destiny to be anything but Arthur’s friend. He might need to thank whoever this new love is for bringing them back together. It would explain why Arthur softened enough to listen to Gwaine, and without that talk he never would’ve talked to Merlin. They could still be at odds.

“I think you should listen to your heart.” Merlin says after some consideration.

Arthur looks up at him from under his lashes, “Are you sure?”

“Arthur, everyone knows you want to marry for love. It was even talked about in Ealdor when I last went home to visit and I certainly didn’t tell them. If Lot somehow missed that news then it’s his own fault.”

“But the treaty.”

“There has to be other ways to show Lot that you’re committed to the treaty that isn’t marrying one of his children.”

Arthur shakes his head, uncertain. Merlin doesn’t know what else he can say to make Arthur understand that he can ask for one thing for himself. That is doesn’t make him selfish or cowardly. 

He can see when an idea occurs. Arthur’s shoulders straighten, and his lips part slightly like he’s going to say something. He rests his hand on Merlin’s shoulder and holds tight.

“Thank you, Merlin.”

“Figured something out then?”

“Let’s just pray that Lot goes for it.” Arthur says and still doesn’t let go of Merlin’s shoulder. He seems to realize what he’s doing, and releases is it with a sheepish smile. Then he leaves as suddenly as he arrived.

Focus on the spell completely shot for the night, Merlin heads to his room. The thing is, it would be far easier for Merlin if Arthur married for convenience. It would keep his heart from squeezing every time he looked at Arthur with his spouse if he knew they didn’t truly love each other.

He’s betrayed Arthur enough as it is. He’s going to advise happiness over duty no matter how his heart might hate it.

His sleep is fretful that night and when he staggers down to the training field the next day he feels like death warmed over. Gwaine doesn’t look much better. He keeps glaring at Elyan for sharpening his sword. 

“Where did you get to last night?” Leon asks.

“I was doing research,” Merlin explains as he struggles into his mail, “You’re all still struggling to sense magic and I found an old spell that might help.”

Leon wavers, “You’d cast a spell on us?”

“Only if you let me.” Merlin responds, hating the way Leon relaxes at that.

He knows Leon and Elyan grew up with Uther shoving the horrors of magic down everyone’s throat, so it is natural that they’re still apprehensive after all these months. It doesn’t stop Merlin being bitter. He’d been under the impression that they knew him better than that.

Arthur is waiting for them on the training when they arrive. Lot’s delegation had left before sun up, eager to get home before the weather worsened. To everyone’s surprise, Gareth is standing next to Arthur. He looks nervous, biting his lip and glancing at Arthur.

“This is Gareth. His father King Lot made me the generous offer last night of an arranged marriage between myself and Princess Edith. We came to an alternate agreement. Gareth here is going to be a knight of Camelot.” 

Arthur pairs everyone off, and leaves Merlin with Gareth. Probably trying to ease the young man into the new training by giving him the easiest fighter. It’s a good plan.

“You don’t look like a knight.” Gareth says conversationally as he spars with Merlin.

“I’m not.” Merlin responds.

“Then why are you training?”

“I’m waiting for Ar—the King to make it official.” Merlin explains.

Gareth nods, “You’re better than most of the knights back in Lothian.”

Merlin is thrown off balance by the compliment and Gareth uses the opportunity to relieve Merlin of his sword.

*  
Merlin knocks on Arthur’s door that same night and waits for the confirmation. Some of the older counselors have taken to pestering Arthur at night as well as during the day, and Merlin doesn’t want to tangle with any of them. He’s not in the mood.

“Come in.” Arthur’s voice calls and Merlin opens the door.

Arthur is sitting in a chair in front of the fire. The flames cast a flickering glow on his skin, and he stares into their depths like they hold the answers to everything. Merlin closes the door behind himself and stands near Arthur’s chair.

“I think you did the right thing.” Merlin says.

That’s enough to drag Arthur’s attention from the flames, “What?”

“With Gareth. It was the right thing. He looks at you like you’re a hero right out of the stories.”

“You know, to most everyone but you I am a hero.” Arthur points out.

“Yeah, but I know you better than most everyone.”

Arthur laughs and gestures to the other chair next to the fire. Merlin takes a seat. This too is familiar and strange all at once. He’s spent many a night relaxing with Arthur in front of the fire as long as Arthur wasn’t in a mood. This is the first time that he’s relaxed here without Arthur teasing him about chores, or with the lies hanging heavy on his shoulders. For once they are just Arthur and Merlin.

Arthur looks at him then and his eyes are so blue. The seriousness pierces Merlin’s soul. He’s only seen Arthur this way a handful of times, and only after something awful happened.

“You said once that you love me.” Arthur says.

Merlin startles, nearly falling out of the chair. He has no idea what brought this on, but he’s sticking to his promise about no longer lying to Arthur.

“I did. I do.” Merlin says awkwardly.

Uncertainty starts to creep into Arthur’s posture. His shoulders not as straight as they were a moment ago. “What did you mean? As a friend, a brother…” he takes a deep breath and looks at Merlin head on, “Something more?”

Merlin shrugs helplessly, “All of it. I’d lay down my life to keep you safe and happy. I have.”

Arthur leans forward then, and his hand rests on the back of Merlin’s neck. Merlin’s breath catches in his chest. For a moment he’d thought Arthur was going to…

“I would do the same for you.” Arthur says,

“Yeah. I know.” That was something Merlin never doubted.

Then it happens. Arthur tugs just a little on Merlin’s neck, and Merlin goes with it. Their lips meet in the gentlest of kisses. They pull back just enough to breathe, foreheads resting together.

“I’m so sorry,” Arthur whispers between them, “I pushed you away when you didn’t deserve it. After everything with Morgana and Agravaine… I was just so angry.”

“It’s okay,” Merlin responds and brings his hand up to cup Arthur’s cheek, “I swear I wanted to tell you. I almost did so many times. At first I didn’t want to make you choose between me and your father, and after he died… I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Arthur’s lips are on his then. They’re warm, firm. He kisses Merlin like his life depends on it and when Merlin gasps, just to get some air, Arthur deepens the kiss. He kisses not unlike the way he fights; clever and confident, pressing his advantage.

Merlin pulls away, sucking in a lungful of air. He lets go of Arthur’s face in favor of fumbling at Arthur’s tunic, trying to pull it over it his head. Arthur seems to understand what Merlin’s doing and offers his help.

It is by far the clumsiest way Merlin has ever undressed him.

*

The bed Merlin is laying on is far too comfortable and warm to be his own. Sunlight illuminates his eyelids, but that isn’t what draws Merlin from his sleep. Rather, it’s the fingers tracing his spine. They travel up and down his back, feather light against his skin. He blinks his eyes open and is met with Arthur smiling indulgently at him.

There have been many mornings where Merlin thought he was going to go mad looking at Arthur soft in the mornings. None of them compare to this. Arthur’s hair is still sleep rumpled, and he keeps gazing at Merlin like he’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen.

“Morning.” Merlin says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Morning.” Arthur responds and leans down, kissing Merlin with no regard for morning breath.

They lay in comfortable silence for a few moments. Arthur’s fingers on his back soothing, though hardly their only point of contact.

“I’ve been thinking.” Arthur says, breaking the silence.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Merlin responds automatically,

The hand on his back stops just long enough to goose his side, “Shut up, Merlin. I want to give you a position.”

A groan tears itself from Merlin’s chest, unbidden, and he flops onto his back, “Arthur, I already told you I don’t want to be a court advisor.”

“I know that,” Arthur says, exasperated, “It would be a waste of knights’ training anyway. I want to make you King’s Sorcerer.”

Merlin squints at Arthur suspiciously, “What does that mean?”

“You’d train any magic users who want to fight for Camelot, sit in on council meetings, train with the knights, and personally protect your king.”

“So other than the training, and having to do your laundry, I’d get my old job back.” Merlin says, warmth blooming in his chest.

“You’d get your old job back.” Arthur agrees.

“I accept.”

Arthur grins and dives down to steal another kiss from Merlin. They lay tangled together again, and Arthur resumes petting Merlin’s back. It’s as though now he’s allowed to touch, Arthur never wants to stop. Merlin has no complaints.

Arthur sits bolt upright in bed, fixing Merlin with a horrified look, “You told my father!”

“What?”

“You told my father you were a sorcerer that day in the throne room!” Arthur says, voice so loud he’s almost yelling.

Merlin remembers then. The looks on Arthur’s face when he’d announced he was a sorcerer had almost been worth his gamble to save Gwen not panning out.

“I guess I did.” Merlin responds mildly, just to see if he can get the vein in Arthur’s forehead to throb.

“Merlin, you idiot!” Arthur shouts like he did that day in the throne room, “Do you have a death wish?”

Merlin snorts, unable to contain his laughter any longer, “It turned out just fine. You covered for me.”

Sure enough, the vein in Arthur’s forehead throbs. Moments later a pillow comes crashing down on Merlin’s face.

*

Merlin adjusts the clasp at his throat anxiously. He still feels like he looks like an idiot despite Gwen’s reassurance he looked dashing when she’d helped him get ready that morning. The leather armor feels more right than the mail ever did, but he would still prefer no armor at all. He was perfectly happy in his tunic and jacket. Arthur insisted on some protection, though, so Merlin had picked the lightest weight he could get away with.

The doors to the great hall swing open, and Merlin proceeds up the aisle. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Gwaine, Lancelot, Gwen, and Gaius all clustered together. They all have proud smiles spread across their faces.

Merlin focuses on the walk ahead of him. It would be just like him to trip over his own feet on one of the most important days of his life. He kneels as gracefully as he can on the cold stone floor in front of Arthur.

“Do you, Merlin, promise to protect your king at all times?” Arthur’s voice echoes above him.

“I do.” Merlin responds and hopes his voice doesn’t give away how nervous he is at finally having his work out in the open. It had been a long year, but they’d finally won the battle against Morgana for good. There is no longer any reason to keep Merlin’s position as King’s Sorcerer a secret.

“And do you swear loyalty to Camelot and all her people? Do you swear to keep them safe as you have done before?”

“I do.”

The tip of Arthur’s sword touches one of his shoulders, and then the other, “Arise, Sir Merlin, King’s Sorcerer of Camelot.”

Merlin stands on unsteady feet, and meets Arthur’s eyes. He’s fighting back a smile, trying to maintain the seriousness of the moment. Merlin, with his back to the crowd, has no reason not to give him a blinding grin in return.


End file.
